


Where We Lay Our Scheme

by devils_first_angel



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Angst and Depression (because Hamlet), Feelings, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Mutual Pining, Rating will change, Romantic Tension, Ros and Guil are good friends, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Tags will be added, WITTENBERG FIC, complicated friendship dynamics everywhere, everyone is protective, not historically accurate though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 38,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24662596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devils_first_angel/pseuds/devils_first_angel
Summary: To Hamlet, Wittenberg is heaven on earth. It all works out rather well for him and he finds himself thinking that perhaps these will be the most carefree years of his life. Except then there is another thing, and it happens to Hamlet unexpectedly and mercilessly - that thing is namely: falling in love with Horatio.Hamlet's POV of In Fair Wittenberg
Relationships: Guildenstern & Hamlet & Rosencrantz (Hamlet), Hamlet & Horatio, Hamlet/Horatio (Hamlet), background Rosencrantz/Guildenstern, past Hamlet/Ophelia (mentioned)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 20





	1. Unverhofft kommt oft...

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In Fair Wittenberg](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23632000) by [devils_first_angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/devils_first_angel/pseuds/devils_first_angel). 



> Hah! I told you I was working on it! Here you finally have Hamlet's POV of In Fair Wittenberg - feel very invited to read that too if you haven't already. There won't be a lot of new stuff happening in this one, except maybe in the next chapter, but I don't know yet. I also don't know how long it'll take me to update. Writing from a switched perspective is harder than I thought, so many details to not get wrong. Also, Hamlet's character is... complicated, guys. I hope I didn't make him too irritable really because he is quite selfish in his pursuit of getting to know Horatio. But let me know what you think. As always I hope it isn't ooc, but I have a good feeling. So without further ado... sit back and enjoy the ride. :)

##### A First Contact

To Hamlet, Wittenberg is heaven on earth. Sure, that may be blasphemy, but that is precisely one of the best things about Wittenberg: nobody chiding him for blasphemy, telling him that he is a crowned prince and should refrain from such things and from so many other things as well. Yes, compared to Elsinore Wittenberg means freedom and harmony. Here, he is free from the suffocating tension surrounding his parents at any time when they are forced to be in the same room, free from Polonius being convinced that he has to teach him every lesson he can think of that a prince for some reason should be taught, free from the chatter and nervous glances of servants, free from the shadow of the throne looming over him at all time. For once, at least for as long as his studies continue here in Wittenberg, he is simply Hamlet and not the crowned prince of Denmark, just Hamlet. And it is good. He cannot think of a single thing that he would truly miss from back home – well, except for Ophelia perhaps... The thought leaves him with an aftertaste of bitterness when he thinks of how things had ended between them lately – lately, more like over a year ago – but they are fine now, or were when Hamlet left, and truly he is grateful and feels a little bad for leaving her behind – and also still a little bad for how things ended despite her assuring him that she has forgiven him on a daily basis for months before he left Elsinore – at least he has left her in the care of her brother Laertes. Laertes, Hamlet knows, is a good guy, if at times a little boring, and Ophelia will be fine, really – also something she had assured him at least once a day, her tone bordering on annoyed, but she meant well. Ophelia always means well.  
Wittenberg, on another note, is everything but boring. It is exciting and new and promising and Hamlet loves his studies as much as he loves all the perks that come with his student life. Wittenberg is _interesting_ \- and Hamlet lives for interesting things. There is just one small thing that darkens Hamlet’s moods – and that is that at times even in Wittenberg he cannot quite escape his title. The professors treat him according to it, and all he can do in revenge is challenge them intellectually because even here he is expected to act a certain way, at least a little bit – not that this would stop him from breaking out of the expectations and leaving people affronted and shocked as much as he can. Freedom is fun and exhilarating and who could honestly possibly judge him? Most of the other students are boring too, sadly – many of them dim-witted and way too many very keen on making Hamlet’s more formal acquaintance probably by their parents or advisors’ demand. Hamlet cares not for them. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are the sole exception. These two live a life even more chaotic and careless than Hamlet does in Wittenberg and although it is technically their job to report Hamlet’s behaviour and progress back to Elsinore, they all three get along very well. Ros and Guil are fun, have always been, and they are clever, not in all aspects academically perhaps, but in a much more practical sense, plus they understand _people_ and Hamlet has always found that to be a most charming characteristic in them. Ros and Guil are also very much head over heels in love with each other and enjoying their time of freedom in Wittenberg especially for it, something Hamlet feels he can very much relate to, and all and all their agreement of sorts has been turning steadily into a friendship that Hamlet would dare call one of the closest friendships he has had the pleasure to obtain in his life. With their mischief and natural ability of scheming at his side, Wittenberg lies at their feet ready to be thoroughly thrown into cheerful chaos by them, and it is the most fun Hamlet may easily ever have had.  
Yes, life in Wittenberg is good, way better even than Hamlet has anticipated, and all the solemnity surrounding his title and the expectations of university and state can oftentimes be turned around by him to have a laugh at the expanse of the same. It all works out rather well for him and he finds himself thinking that perhaps these will be the most carefree years of his life.

Except then there is another thing, and it happens to Hamlet unexpectedly and mercilessly. It begins as an insistent nagging at the back of his mind that will not leave him alone, and Hamlet has a hunch he will soon discover it to have been more from the start. And oh, how right he is, the universe is probably out for him...  
The first time he comes upon it is when he stumbles into one of his lectures, fashionably late, Ros and Guil in tow – it has taken him a few weeks to pick up on his studies and he has so far not been to this lecture, everything was a little chaotic, but who would have scolded the crowned prince of Denmark for it? It is only when the one student standing in the room of sitting people looks around to them from the front row that he realises that the young man has been talking until Hamlet, Ros and Guil effectively interrupted him with their entrance. But the thought only stays in his head for half a moment because then his eyes meet soft brown ones and something within him stops.  
Hamlet doesn’t particularly trust the world of his mind – it has a tendency to be vicious, ungrateful and sly and it wields a greater control over him than he admits to anyone who isn’t very close to him – but some part of it, something somewhere deep from within his mind seems to be of the opinion that there is something... something note-worthy, something interesting, something worth stopping about. Usually, Hamlet’s mind is all chaos and storm, swirling around him in a wild stream of destructiveness that overwhelms him at times, but right now in this moment everything comes to a halt and seems to be drawing in on this pair of glaring hazel eyes...  
And then the young man turns around again and keeps talking to another student in a steady, calm voice and Ros and Guil pull Hamlet into the back row where they usually find their seats. Hamlet sits quietly, his eyes never leaving the young man who is deftly finishing an argument with such swiftness and finesse that it obviously leaves his opponent speechless. It is very impressive... Hamlet cannot quite help himself. When the student is done and has finished his flawless argumentation Hamlet whistles audibly through his teeth. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern stop their chattering at that, turning to him with surprised interest, but Hamlet has no care for it because the young man yanks his head around again at the sound of it like a bear poked with a stick. Again he _glares_ \- and isn’t something about that _interesting?_ Hamlet isn’t sure why... But even that matters little because their eyes meet again and if Hamlet has been wondering whether his earlier reaction may have been a one time thing, he now knows that it has definitely not been, wow. Something in the expression of the young man changes when he sees Hamlet staring at him. He still looks somewhat indignant, even annoyed, but there is something else, too... Hamlet cannot quite put a finger on it. And he hasn’t got the time to figure out what it is because the lecturer in the front clears his throat and the young man snaps out of their staring contest, turns around and sits again, much to Hamlet’s disappointment.  
The lecturer, meanwhile, thanks the student and asks for follow-up remarks or annotations. Hamlet hesitates for a split second, but he cannot stop himself, some part of him is already too far into this. There is this nagging at the back of his mind and although he isn’t exactly sure why, he opens his mouth to speak.  
“I should think that any adding to such a swift and clean ending of a debate would do the very nature and purpose of debate wrong, professor.” He says it lightly and remains seated and he cannot suppress a small grin when the young man in front snaps his head around again. Somehow Hamlet had a feeling this particular demand might test the student’s patience... Oh, this is _fun._ Hamlet has never seen anyone make such an indignant face at him before and he grew up at court after all. But the disapproval and irritation is written all over the young man’s features without any hesitance despite it being directed at Hamlet and isn’t that just perfect? The student opens his mouth in an attempt to say something, but the professor beats him to it.  
“Very well said indeed. Nevertheless, I’m sure Your Highness will agree that it is our scholarly duty to listen for any voice in a debate that we may not yet have heard, even and especially when we think to know and have given all sides a good listen.”  
Hamlet thinks fast. The student up front is probably a young man of strong opinions, a true scholar judging by the looks of it, probably of no notable social standing, one of the few that make it here because they actually have the savvy for it. The professors probably like him because he is one of the few that actually bother because they care about their studies, among all the young lords that just spend their parents’ money in Wittenberg, and this young man also possibly doesn’t know _just who_ Hamlet is. Therefore, the professor up front would casually work in an opportunity to drop Hamlet’s title when addressing him – something that Hamlet doesn’t like in his lecturers and has found his methods to stop most from doing by now – in order to protect the young scholar up front from saying something stupid or, God forbid, insolent to the crowned prince of Denmark. Interesting indeed... Hamlet grins nonetheless. “As surely as it is our duty to know and respect when a debate has rightfully been won as it seemed to me it had been in this case.”  
It is uttered with the same ease everything else has been said. The young man is still staring at Hamlet, seemingly unfazed by the compliment and still very much disapproving. Hamlet cannot blame him; he is himself of the conviction that any argument should be fought to an ending and that every point should be objected to for debate’s sake, he is just saying these things because the hazel eyed student is so beautifully irritated by them. Hamlet really wishes he would object and he would get to test his wits against this man’s because he thinks that it would prove to be even more thrilling than this already is, but the young man keeps his mouth shut. Something like careful contemplation is crosses his face. _Oh, he has recognised me then,_ Hamlet thinks and it should disappoint him as it usually does, but somehow it delights him. This young man has now recognised Hamlet as the crowned prince of Denmark he is, but he doesn’t seem intimidated by it, his facial expression doesn’t even bear any less of the irritation it has before. Instead, something like curiosity seeps into it and Hamlet eagerly returns that look. His concentration is interrupted by the shifting of Ros and Guil next to him. They are dutifully listening to him and seem to marvel at every word he says – a habit they have picked up half to mock him and half to dutifully support his position in a debate in lectures. He doesn’t appreciate it and has let them know so, but some things these two are expected to do in public as their position as companions of the prince... Hamlet glances at them in open disapproval. When his eyes find the hazel ones again after that he sees something else pass over the soft features of the other student, but before he can really take it in, the young man has already turned back around and the lecture continues as it would.

Hamlet cautiously studies the front row student for the remainder of the lecture – which admittedly isn’t that long due to their late arrival. When class ends everyone shuffles out of the room and the young man has pushed past the back row and out of the room nearly too fast for Hamlet’s eyes to follow him. Ros and Guil gather their things as he pensively gets up.  
“Who was that?” he asks them when they finally join him, Ros trailing behind a little.  
Guil looks where he is still staring at the spot where the man disappeared, frowns and then blinks as understanding dawns on him. “You mean Horatio?” he asks. And then, on a thought, “Oh my lord, Horatio is untouchable! Whatever kind of interest you have taken, you stand no chance with _him.”_  
Ros catches up with them. “With whom?”  
“Horatio,” Guil repeats and Ros laughs.  
“Horatio? You’re staring after Horatio? That’s a peculiar choice even for you!”  
Hamlet only smiles to himself while the two of them snicker. He knows to ignore them when they make fun of everyone and everything. “I’m just curious,” he shrugs. “Tell me about him?”

********************

##### Non-verbal Communication

They do and all the while Hamlet listens and there is that nagging at the back of his mind. Despite all that Ros and Guil tell him, he cannot figure out what it is that makes him so keenly aware of something about that man – Horatio. He carefully tests the weight of that name on his tongue in the privacy of his chambers. _Horatio._ It seems to resonate with something within him and he likes the sound of it, but he isn’t sure why – as with everything about that man. Something about him is just... Hamlet is a naturally attentive person, he notices people and he notices things about them. It isn’t often that he notices someone, but can’t put a finger on why that is or even what exactly he is even noticing. It is almost as though his interest in Horatio, his indelible curiosity, isn’t even his own doing, like it’s out of his hands. He would readily blame his chaotic mind, but his mind is everything but chaos when it comes to Horatio, it immediately stills – something that has never happened to him before. Something else seems to fall into chaos however. If only he could tell just _what it is..._  
He can’t and so he does what he can for now and sets out to make a mental list of things that are interesting about Horatio to figure what it is about that man that is so relentlessly drawing him in. The list consists of things that Ros and Guil told him and that he interpreted from things they said or the way they said it, and some part of Hamlet is already scheming to put every point on that list to the test. Right now, however, his mind is too preoccupied with learning more about Horatio from observation and careful interaction. The newest addition to his list of interesting things about Horatio is that he shares nearly all of his classes with the man. Although, to be fair, the truly interesting part in that is that either Hamlet had not noticed Horatio before or he had not noticed how many of his classes he had not been attending in his first few weeks – because he finds it hard to believe that he might have spent several weeks simply overseeing Horatio. Now, Hamlet keenly goes to all his classes – much to the amusement of Guildenstern who teases him for his newfound obsession with Horatio, and to the annoyance of Rosencrantz who would rather Hamlet spent his free time in Wittenberg’s pubs so that he and Guil have more of an excuse to accompany him _there_ than to attend their own classes as dutifully as he does – and keeps an eye out. Horatio is a diligent, assiduous student who dedicates what seems to be all of his time to his studies, much as Ros and Guil have described it. But it doesn’t make Horatio highbrow or boring. Instead, he is so full of energy and true passion in debate that merely watching him can make Hamlet breathless at times – and Horatio is full of surprising, interesting and strong opinions. In all his peculiarity and passion he also always keeps calm and steady and reasonable, but somehow is no less fierce for it – a quality that Hamlet deeply respects in their scholars, but has to admire in a man as young as Horatio, a man of his age after all.  
All in all, Hamlet cannot help but watch Horatio carefully. For a while, it is just that, and it is only the occasionally glance his direction that he catches from the other. But when a while has passed the impatient and always scheming part of Hamlet wins – as it usually does – and he starts trying to attract Horatio’s attention, to coax a reaction out of Horatio – a reaction other than his occasional glance or glare. He needs to see something else, something _more_ from Horatio to get a look behind the carefully contained calm and steadiness. He wants to know what lies beneath and beyond that cool scholar that wins any debate in class with ease, to dig into who that interesting man actually is and explore. He is unsure how to do that first, but his mind is always scheming in the background and sooner than he expected, Hamlet finds a way.

It is more luck than strategy that it works when it does. They are attending a rather dull lecture on teleology one day. It is not so much the matter of teleology itself that makes the lecture dull, but rather the turn the format of it takes half-way through as a young lord gets up and opens his mouth to speak. Hamlet wrecks his mind for the young lord’s name, but he cannot find it. It probably speaks for the number of times this young man has so far spoken in class or even attended this lecture. Why on _earth_ he would decide to do that now is a riddle to Hamlet, but it is of no great matter anyway. Hamlet just wishes he _wouldn’t_ because what this young lord is saying is so utterly stupid and bland that even the lecturer who usually keeps his expression controlled when a member of nobility says something dumb lets a facial expression of light confusion slip every now and then. Hamlet has no such reservation or restraint – and he doesn’t see any need for it either. He _gapes_ at how absolutely _ridiculous_ the student’s argumentation is getting – it’s a shame the student is facing the front and can’t see it, really. He would probably splutter and stop if he could, considering the awkward insecurity with which he loses himself in his speech.  
There is someone who _does_ see him very well though – and that someone is Horatio. It is a rather convenient situation, in Hamlet’s opinion anyway. Horatio always finds his seat in the front row, right hand side of the room. Hamlet, on the other hand, usually sits to the left side in the far back – it’s Ros and Guil’s preferred space, but even in classes without them, like this one for instance, Hamlet finds that he likes the place because it gives a nice overview of the class. And also it just so happens to put him right in Horatio’s line of sight whenever the other has to turn around to listen to fellow students sitting practically anywhere else in the room.  
This is particularly great because Hamlet has a tendency to pull faces from the back of the class and he has noticed that Horatio doesn’t seem to particularly like it. Horatio is visibly of the mindset that every fellow student deserves a certain amount of respect. Hamlet finds it hard to agree with that, but perhaps it comes with Horatio’s lower social standing and the fact that he has to pay respect to his fellow students and equally has to fight for it to be returned at times. Hamlet won’t apologise for his behaviour. There are enough annoying duties coming with being a prince, he will certainly at least revel in some of the freedoms as well. It is delightful that Horatio seems to mind though because it works wonders in getting Horatio’s attention.  
It is usually just glares and irritated staring. Hamlet finds it quite cute that Horatio loses his dutiful concentration oftentimes when being distracted by Hamlet’s grimaces. But Horatio keeps his reactions to a minimum when he can. Hamlet, of course, takes that as a playful challenge and sometimes makes a show to make particularly mocking faces when Horatio has to look his way. Horatio shows marvellous restraint though and so far Hamlet hasn’t been able to coax so much as a raised eyebrow out of him.  
Today, however, is different.

Usually, Horatio would face a lousy speech from another student with mild disapproval and then later calmly raise a hand, get up and defeat him in a short and precise debate. Hardly any student stands a chance against Horatio, this one would surely be absolutely ruined. But as the young lord simply won’t stop talking, Hamlet is only staring and not making faces anymore at how _unbelievably stupid_ what he is saying is. And when he tilts his head ever so slightly and looks past the speaker he sees Horatio’s face wear an equally blank expression bar any emotion. Hamlet nearly laughs with how relatable that is, but then Horatio’s gaze shifts and their eyes meet. _Oh yes, that good old sensation..._ But there is something new to it. Usually, Horatio loathes being distracted when listening to another student’s argumentation, but now it is almost as though there is a silent plea for distraction lingering in his eyes. Hamlet raises his eyebrows.  
He doesn’t expect anything to come from it, Horatio has never reacted to his mocking looks with anything more than a glare, but Horatio visibly takes a breath and _rolls his eyes_ \- and wow, if that isn’t a reaction! And it’s not even directed at Hamlet. Instead, Horatio quite clearly _agrees with him._ Hamlet’s heart picks up a beat. This is like a once in a lifetime chance, he better not ruin it.  
He wriggles his eyebrows and leans his head to one side. Then, when the young lord makes a remark that obviously doesn’t even relate to the topic anymore, Hamlet opens his eyes wide, staring with disbelief. Did he really just say that??  
Horatio, to Hamlet’s delight, seems to fight a smirk, but it is still visible in the quirk of his lips and he shakes his head in exasperated agreement.  
Their short exchange is absolutely thrilling to Hamlet and he doesn’t think he has ever felt more alive in a lecture on teleology. He gasps silently when the speaker turns to a new argument clumsily and Horatio returns a helpless shrug. He has apparently given up on this student which is only just, if a bit unlikely for Horatio who usually challenges even the most lacking of argumentations... Hamlet cocks his head again and raises an eyebrow questioningly. It feels like a daring move, also because he is revealing his knowledge of Horatio, but the other doesn’t seem taken aback by it. Instead, Horatio grimaces and frowns sceptically. There is something about seeing that face carry more than its usually carefully contained emotions that is making Hamlet light-headed and he can’t fight a chuckle anymore. He is giddy with sharing this hidden communication with Horatio and when a small grin breaks out over Horatio’s face he suddenly looks even younger and his features even softer, but also more refined and there is a spark to his eyes...  
Then, their lecturer huffs and gives them a disapproving look and Horatio ducks his head and turns back around. When he later turns back to listen to other students’ comments Horatio carefully avoids Hamlet’s gaze. First, Hamlet is a little disappointed, but then he continues, unfazed. He now knows that there is something more to Horatio’s opinions, a hidden something behind the apparent openness with his beliefs in class, and he knows that Horatio is not beyond convincing to let some of those opinions slip. If he rather keeps them to himself in class, Hamlet will have to coax them out of him some other way. That seems like an irrationally promising thought... But there’s nothing questionable to it. Horatio’s interesting, that’s all. And if Hamlet draws a particularly absurd face in class whenever he notices Horatio’s eyes flicker over to him, well who could blame him when it is such fun to tease some exasperation out of this carefully controlled man?

********************

##### Women, Am I Right?

Hamlet’s mental list of curious things about Horatio is a project that over the following weeks takes up more and more of his time. Luckily, it comes with the convenient side effect of Hamlet also being more immersed in his studies as following Horatio’s remarks and argumentation in class is one of his favourite daytime activities and turns out to be way more fruitful when he puts some time into his schoolwork.  
Hamlet isn’t necessarily a truant. True enough, he sometimes only puts as much work in as he has to and his essays are handed in delayed as every noble’s even if perhaps a little less so than most nobles’ at Wittenberg. Yet, his studies have always come to him with ease and he takes a good portion of delight in them. Nor does he necessarily wish to hold back in class, it is just that at times it is more convenient than to freely offer his more radical opinions, lest they be carried on to the court and his parents. But he enjoys testing his wits against any worthy opponent when he has the chance to. Guildenstern, for example, is wonderfully skilful when it comes to philosophical banter whereas Rosencrantz will sit for hours to debate the ethical implications of the sciences. Horatio, however, is something else. Hamlet has done some digging and it turns out that Horatio actually runs on a university scholarship – a seldom thing granted to few, and very hesitantly given still to people of no background such as Horatio. Watching him in class, however, certainly reveals why such a scholarship would be granted to him, even if it barely covers the study fees.  
Anyway, the obsession Hamlet has taken with Horatio is a strange thing, he has to admit. And a part of him has started to wonder whether he is just carefully calculating the capacities of a rival. Indeed, Hamlet has begun to suspect that perhaps his keen interest in Horatio will fade once they face each other in debate. The enigmatic energy surrounding Horatio’s persona would become more concrete and if the debate were satisfying, if Hamlet were perhaps even to win it, Horatio would appear as a normal fellow student to him again and nobody to unreasonably marvel at.  
This assessment of Hamlet’s is proven wrong one day in a class on natural philosophy.

The lecturer is speaking of common difference and similarities between different species of the fauna and human nature and on his contemplations of the female of a certain species being “more deadly than the male” the class erupts in laughter over a series of jokes culminating in a nasty remark about the inherent inferiority of women to men. Ros and Guil snicker next to him, but immediately fall deadly silent when Hamlet gets up to stand. He may have a tendency to keep his more radical thoughts to himself, but he thinks of Ophelia and of his mother and the time has long not seemed so right to not let such a statement go unanswered.  
“Actually, I do find it a point to marvel at,” he says coolly, but audibly and the laughter awkwardly ebbs away. “There is quite a lot in the nature of the fauna that we find in human nature as well. And considering that the male seems in most aspects of nature, animal _and_ human, more aggressive than the female, isn’t it then quite interesting that a part of us relates to that notion of the female yet being more deadly? I take it from the declaration you just made that you think a woman to be a lot less deadly than a man, and surely is the fairer sex at most times of a lesser threat to us physically than it could be, but just how it _could!_ Is there one of you who could not think of an example of a vengeful woman, or a mother ready to protect her child with all she has to offer – in which, again, mankind is much alike with the fauna – and can a woman in such an example not be horribly deadly? And be it just because a woman fights with no fairness when she fights, methinks it is no less true!”  
Silence reigns. Guil and Ros are keeping their heads low and most of the other students, especially the one who made the bawdy joke, avoid Hamlet’s eyes. But then, out of nowhere, Horatio is suddenly standing.  
“My lord,” he says it with ease and inclines his head. Everyone else in the room is still mildly intimidated by the fierceness of Hamlet’s comment, but Horatio doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, he seems... invested. Hamlet cannot quite fight a small smile, but Horatio doesn’t pay it any attention and continues, “ _Me_ thinks you do the debate on the nature of the female wrong in not mentioning that the reason the woman fights without fairness is that she only fights when the situation is beyond all fairness. In fact, I would say that the woman only fights because she is forced to by none other than man – and I believe your examples to stress this fact. What will a mother protect her child from, if not from some circumstance brought on by man? And the woman who is vengeful will feel betrayed and fight unfairly for she feels that she has been treated unfairly!” It is intoxicating at any time to see Horatio in debate. But there is something more about having that attention and meticulous rigour directed towards oneself... Horatio, Hamlet finds, is not just interesting, but also impressive. “I mean not to defend the deadliness a woman can bring, nor deny or relativise it. I simply think it wrong to explain her deadliness with the unjust means of her fighting. The female is not given chance to fight fairly, she sees no need to fight fairly! She lacks the male’s aggression and therefore takes not part in his orderly matters of fighting in ways we call ‘fair.’ The woman’s deadlines, methinks, is brought on where she cannot escape the sphere of male aggression. I believe that an in-depth look at many a piece of ancient literature will show us just that thesis put into more poetic words than I can author right now.”  
Hamlet takes a moment, smile unfaltering, to take Horatio in. He hums. It is even more delightful than he thought to find in Horatio not just a worthy opponent, but really a partner in debate who cares about the content, implications and outcome of it. He is steady in his passion, but not untouched by it – his breath is the smallest bit laboured, his pupils are the smallest bit wider than usual... And although he holds Hamlet’s gaze without hesitation, there is some tension to it, like he is waiting for Hamlet to continue so the energy of it isn’t lost. Hamlet readily does him that favour. “I marvel at your philosophy, and your reasoning is well. Literature can sure attest such, my experience proves you right in that, and I am glad you pointed out that the female may be driven to unfairness by unfairness; indeed I would have to agree. Personally, I believe the female to be no much different from the male in deadliness. I think she has a potential for aggression as much as he does, and is as deadly as he is. It seems to me more that her aggression comes to light in greater portions if less often whereas the male’s aggression leaks more steadily. But truly, their deadliness comes down to the same. Nevertheless, it fascinates me how nature draws us in with the implication of female’s deadliness perhaps being true in our female as much as in fauna. In truth, it is ever the more interesting that the female shall be considered so deadly when submitted to pressure by literature although she is in truth no more deadly than the male.”  
It is a risky position he takes and certainly, no other student in all of Wittenberg would dare to. But Hamlet doesn’t build up the ‘crowned-madman-of-Denmark’-reputation for nothing. Even so, he is as good as untouchable and he stands by his opinions. A neat little side effect of this debate is that by saying these things he gives Horatio the space to voice his own beliefs on the matter freely... And Hamlet has a feeling they agree on this quite strongly.  
“In truth,” Horatio breathes and a smile flits across his face. It is in this instant that Hamlet has an epiphany: It is not that Horatio is impressive. Well, yes, he is impressive, but also, and more so: attractive. It seems silly now that Hamlet shouldn’t have noticed it before, but it isn’t so much that he hasn’t been aware of Horatio’s general physique and the attractiveness of that. No, Horatio is moreover very distinctively attractive in the way he throws himself heart-first into a debate and in the small ways he is utterly responsive that Hamlet has been picking up on... Now that Hamlet _has_ seen it, it is impossible to unsee and he is helplessly lost in Horatio’s speech because the dutiful, diligent student is practically buzzing with how invested he is in their exchange of opinions and Hamlet can’t help but be drawn to it. There is an odd beauty to it, and a greater attraction. “If you allow me the speculation, my lord, perhaps literature justifies its fascination with something in which mankind is inherently different from nature with finding the similarity elsewhere. For it seems to me, looking at literature, that the female is found to be more deadly to the heart than the male, if not elsewhere.”  
Hamlet nearly laughs at the irony of it – that Horatio would say _that_ right when quite the opposite were to happen to Hamlet. Oh, sweet faithful Horatio, lost to the theoretical philosophy of it. Guildenstern faintly whispers something to Rosencrantz – something about having died more ‘little deaths’ from a man’s hand than from any lady’s mouth – and Hamlet cannot quite fight the sly grin that steals itself onto his face. The statement should give him pause and hesitation in regards to Horatio, but then again...  
“Well, now _that_ I am afraid I cannot possibly agree with,” he says while intently looking Horatio up and down. Horatio flushes lightly – _beautifully responsive,_ Hamlet thinks, his grin widening, and notes that on his mental list for later – but also, and even more beautifully, Horatio is struck _speechless._ Now, if that doesn’t say something!  
The rest of the class seems to be relieved by the slight laughter surrounding Hamlet that eases the tension that had built between Horatio and him palpably and the lecturer takes his topic back up where he left off before Horatio has found his tongue again. Hamlet sits and he watches Horatio as he becomes self-conscious again and awkwardly sits as well. Curious, Hamlet thinks... Because there is that something more to Horatio again – that something that only comes out when he forgets himself or is startled into forgetting his surroundings. But well, if driving Horatio to passion or puzzlement is what it takes for Hamlet to be able to explore that more hidden part of Horatio, Hamlet is very ready to find ways to do that...

********************

##### Coming Closer

He doesn’t waylay Horatio – his scheming isn’t quite there yet. He is still gathering information, experiences, adding notes to his mental list. And when he happens to come upon Horatio or sees a chance, he tests the points from his list bit by bit. He is not yet quite sure what the outcome of this will be, but he reckons he’d better figure out the range of Horatio’s reaction before diving fully in.  
The next time Hamlet happens upon Horatio, and the first time he actually talks to him, he later realises, is the day the topic for their theology essay is given out. It is a very specific topic and although Hamlet doesn’t usually start early on his class work, he just so happens to stroll into the library that day – because Ros and Guil are out in the city running errands and he has nothing else to do – and while he’s at it already he chats up the librarian. It turns out that there is only one copy of the book he will need for his specific essay idea and as the day is young and the topic of this essay actually an interesting one he sets out in search of the book.  
Hamlet does not believe in faith. And yet...  
He is completely lost in thought when his hand reaches for the book he was looking for. And when his hand is surprisingly met by another going for the same book and he looks up to see the equally surprised face of Horatio, he wonders whether faith may deserve to be contemplated anew...  
They stare at each other for a comically long moment and Hamlet notices somewhat absent-mindedly still that they are standing very close and that their hands are still touching and that in the warm hazel brown of Horatio’s eyes there are green speckles... And then Horatio pulls his hand away and takes a step backwards and Hamlet’s spell is broken. He blinks, lightly startled, when his thoughts rush back in. Interesting, he had not expected this attraction to be so fast in having such an effect on him...  
“My lord,” Horatio quietly says. Hamlet stays as he is, his hand on the back of the book, never breaking his eye contact with Horatio... This might get a little more interesting yet, but his mind has not yet decided on one in a million options to react.  
So instead of over-thinking it too much, Hamlet opts for what comes most naturally. He relaxes and gives the other a smile. “Horatio, isn’t it?”  
Horatio blinks. “Indeed, my lord.”  
_So he didn’t expect you to know his name. Interesting. Let’s see what else we can find out about his expectations..._  
Hamlet turns up the nonchalance a little and lets it take over his smile. He pulls the book out from the shelf and holds out towards Horatio. “I’m afraid we’re going for the same book.” He gives his voice an offering tone, but also a lightly teasing one. Indeed, Horatio seems puzzled and a little uncomfortable with his offer.  
“After you, my lord,” he is quick to say. Interesting... But Hamlet isn’t ready to give up quite yet.  
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I am informed that this is the only copy of it there is.”  
“It is no problem, my lord,” Horatio now seems firm in his opinion, like he is going to insist. Hamlet wonders what would happen were he to insist right back at him... Maybe some other time. “There is plenty of time before this essay needs to be handed in.”  
Solid reasoning, and a sound comeback. Luckily, however, Hamlet knows how to top it. “And yet, you’re here already...”  
Horatio lets nothing slip through his polite modesty, but if Hamlet squints he could swear that he hears the mildest hint of irritation at Hamlet’s persistence in his voice... “I like to make a head start on my work. But I will be just fine starting on it a little later than usual.”  
Yes, there is definitely something. Hamlet wonders now how much more he needs to invest to coax more of a reaction from Horatio... He lets some amusement seep into his smile. “Yes,” he muses. “Guildenstern said something like that.”  
Get a little personal. Guil and Ros know Horatio rather well and it seems that their natural ability to get people to open up to them has worked on him as well as on others. Perhaps mentioning them will move Horatio to a reaction.  
And sure enough. Horatio’s eyebrows rise when he hears that. Hamlet immediately jumps onto it.  
“They are quite fond of you, you know?” he continues. “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.”  
Horatio smiles a very carefully polite smile again. Damn, Hamlet really thought he had him...  
“Are they, my lord? Well, I am quite flattered.”  
Hamlet barely manages to contain his surprised laughter at a library-appropriate volume. “Nothing to be too flattered about, they are fond of everyone who will help them to a drink, an evening’s entertainment or a grade to pass their studies.” He eyes Horatio curiously. “And I do not believe that it flatters you either. Methinks you are cleverer than that.”  
Now _that_ Horatio visibly startles at. “My lord...?” He seems uncomfortable. Perhaps Hamlet is slowly getting the gist of it. Come to think of it, it would make sense for Horatio to be careful in his relationships to nobility of course... Hamlet truly hopes that Horatio doesn’t have too strong opinions on the social distance between nobility and commoners. He has just become so very interesting, it would be disappointing were he to look at Hamlet with much the same air most of Wittenberg’s students are regarding him with... But it doesn’t particularly seem that way, so mayhaps there is some other truth concealed in his reactions...  
He may be straining Horatio’s good will, but he cannot quite help himself. His mind is set on taking it a step further before the rest of him is. “Well, I would hate to disrupt your usual manners of studying. If you will, we can sit over this reading matter together. I would be delighted to have a mind as yours to discuss the topic of this essay with.”  
Something fascinating happens right then. His words seem to give Horatio pause as the other stops mid-breath and just _looks_ at him for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought. Hamlet feels strangely nervous with it and all he can do is hold the other’s gaze and focus on the green spot in Horatio’s eyes. There is that nagging at the back of his mind again and he realises in the quiet of the moment that he wishes Horatio would say yes more than he was aware when asking... Eventually, however, Horatio lowers his gaze and carefully backs off – only a little bit, but definitely a bit. “I would not stand in the ways of your studies, my lord. I will return to the book when you are done with it. Until then I have enough other studies to occupy myself with.”  
It is disappointing, but it technically is what Hamlet expected. What he didn’t expect was that moment of hesitance, of interest there... He considers, for a brief moment, insisting on it and asking Horatio for his company right where they’re standing – but then decides against it. He has taken things far enough for today. After all, he doesn’t want to actually upset Horatio.  
“Very well,” he says. “As you wish.” But then he cannot stop himself from making another remark after all and he lingers for a second, studies Horatio carefully in this new setting of their interactions, and he mutters something that he means more than he understands it. “They may be fond of everyone, but you may actually be deserving of their fondness... By any means, you should let yourself be flattered. A man of your wits could never stand in the way of my studies. I find it most enticing to hear what your mind puts forth. Perhaps another time, good Horatio.”  
He turns and leaves at that. But he cannot fight his smirk at the fact that Horatio stands frozen in place until Hamlet has left the aisle.

********************

##### Out Of The Closet...

Truth be told, Hamlet hasn’t been entirely honest with himself about everything being great in Wittenberg... Even here he isn’t safe from the turmoil of his mind and the darker moods that overcome and overwhelm him unexpectedly even on the best of days. At times, he gets destructive. At others malicious towards his friends. Yet at others horribly auto-aggressive. Ros and Guil have been suffering at the front of such moods since his arrival in Wittenberg and it is therefore that Hamlet respects them so greatly, that they will put up with him even after he has been truly horrible to them in a fit of unwarranted anger or melancholy. They are unable to help him and some part of him knows they feel terrible for it, but some other cares little because there is no helping the darkness that surrounds him and will come back to throw him into misery no matter what he does. It is in such moments, when he struggles to see sense in anything, that he thinks that if this is it, if this always comes back and will always be a part of his life, it isn’t worth it, not for all the happy hours around it, not even if these happy hours happen to make the majority of his days for a while. It is therefore all he can do to be grateful that Guildenstern and Rosencrantz try dragging him into the fun parts of life and to cheer him up until his moods get too dark. Then, they usually dug away to avoid his wrath and return to his side when he isn’t vengeful towards anyone who will attempt to speak to him anymore. He can’t blame them. He doesn’t have the energy to blame people, usually, when a fit of his destructive anger has passed.

It is the day he receives a letter from his mother including a stern message from his father that one of his worst moods as of yet in Wittenberg hits him. Rosencrantz tries tirelessly to appeal to his patience and understanding and begs him to help him and Guil construct an answer to the court – the pair has received letters asking about Hamlet’s affairs themselves and where they can usually avoid some of the questions that Hamlet prefers to go unanswered, the demand for reports is very clear this time around and Hamlet is _furious._ Guildenstern eventually has to drag Ros out of Hamlet’s chambers by one arm when the other refuses to leave before Hamlet calms down despite the prince having gone over to throwing things at them.  
It is not just them though. His father has through his mother apparently sent an army of people with expectations after him. When the bursar comes knocking on his door to ask about a letter from his parents asking to discuss the further stay of prince Hamlet at Wittenberg he directs some very harsh words at him to get rid of him. And when the vicar comes for him because he was asked to remind him of his representative duties in the city, Hamlet realises this isn’t going to end soon and flees his rooms.  
He leaves as he is and has to avoid at least three more people walking up to him before he finds the safest space he can find without having to go far. His chambers are probably the best the university has to offer and the better lodgings are closest to the kitchens. Hamlet has used this advantage on several occasions. Right now, however, it isn’t exactly convenient. The corridors down to the kitchens have a tendency to be patrolled by numerous students who got caught in their studies and seek an early breakfast or a late night meal. Even on a lazy day someone would pass by him at some point. It is precisely that reason, however, that makes it the place where nobody will actually come looking for him.  
Hamlet hides in a cabinet halfway down one of the corridors leading to the kitchens. The cabinet is empty and has been standing there for months as if somebody left it unsure what to do with it and a part of Hamlet thinks that it is probably haunted. But a greater part of him doesn’t care as he wraps himself in the blanket he took from his rooms and concentrates on the tightness of the space to calm himself.  
An hour or so has passed when he finally calms down enough to dry his tears. He pushes thoughts of his family and Elsinore aside for now and focuses on breathing in the chilly morning air. It has gotten a bit cold now that he hasn’t moved aside from his slight shaking for an hour. The shaking finally subsides and he sighs. He feels hungry and lonely and cold, but he is far from ready to leave his hiding space. A sarcastic part of him thinks that he should pray for an angel to pass by and bring him warmth, distraction and something to eat, but that is an utterly silly thought. Hamlet coughs, his throat exhausted from yelling and crying and breathing the cold air and he does his best to relax where he is and let his thoughts wander. He coughs a few more times.  
For a horrible moment he thinks perhaps he’s let his thoughts wander too far when the cabinet door suddenly opens and he looks up half expecting Yorick to stare down at him with a disapproving expression – But it’s Horatio. A wave of relief overtakes Hamlet. He is so overwhelmed by it that he can’t even process the absurdity of the situation. Instead, he presses one finger to his lips and says, ““Shhhh, I’m hiding.”  
Horatio, on the other side, is very much aware of the absurdity of the situation. He blinks a few times and his face takes on an expression of confusion and... something else that Hamlet hasn’t seen on his face before. Something that makes him feel... grounded.  
Horatio apparently comes to a decision and he softly closes the door again. Hamlet stares at the space where the other was standing for a long moment. Something about that encounter felt... oddly right.  
He takes a shaky breath and leans against the side of the cabinet, carefully listening out for sounds from the corridor now. A few minutes later steps return from the kitchens and when they pass by his cabinet they... stop. Hamlet smiles. He carefully pushes the door open a bit and reaches out to take one of the croissants that Horatio is carrying, letting his hand slip back inside and the door fall closed softly. After a split second, however, he reaches outside the cabinet again and gently takes the book that Horatio is holding from his hands. Horatio lets him and their eyes don’t meet, but there is a certain intimacy to the passing on of the things. When Hamlet closes the door again, a few seconds pass and then Horatio’s steps continue down the corridor to where he originally came from. Hamlet smiles a little more. He takes a bite of the croissant he stole and looks at the book in the light falling in through the crack between the doors. Aristophanes’ Comedies... His smile turns into a grin and he pulls a pencil out from behind one ear. Humming around the croissant he flips the pages open in a random spot and begins to read, happily scribbling notes down the sides. He gets lost in the exercise, and the food and smell of paper sooth him. For the first time that day he feels _safe._

********************

##### I Once Overheard...

The matter with his parents is cleared in due time. His father was in a certain mood, but other duties takes up more of his time soon enough again and his mother is more understanding. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern readily assist him in pouring oil on troubled water after he sincerely and exhaustedly apologises to them. Hamlet has some more destructive fits for a while, but only until one takes him to the infirmary and he barely manages to stop that fact being passed on to his parents. He tries to calm himself then and succeeds more than he thought.  
What helps him is concentrating on Horatio, strangely. Ros argues that he is obsessed and it cannot be healthy, but whenever Hamlet thinks of Horatio looking down at him crouched inside the cabinet, Horatio letting him take a croissant, Horatio softly closing the door, not dismissively, but with care... It balances him. Guil gives him a peculiar look when he talks about it once and then shushes Ros when he wants to complain about Hamlet’s obsessions again. Hamlet wonders why, but doesn’t pay it too much mind eventually and continues to fill out every page of Horatio’s copy of Aristophanes’ with his pencilled comments.

Thinking about Horatio takes up most of Horatio’s time now. He doesn’t even look for excuses about it anymore. It is something that keeps him busy and in better spirits and Horatio is still very much interesting.  
One point on his mental list that Hamlet ponders on particularly much lately is this: Horatio is everything that Hamlet is not, he is considerate, reasonable, calm, steady and responsible and yet – Ros and Guil _like_ him. He is not at all the type of person for them to take a fancy to and that, yes, that truly is interesting... When he cautiously brings it up with the pair Guil shrugs and admits, “Well, thou’rt right in that aspect. There is just something about Horatio.” And Ros laughs.  
And there really is something about Horatio, isn’t there? Come to think of it, Hamlet believes that Ros and Guil aren’t exactly the people he would expect Horatio to befriend either, but somehow the three have one of the most steadily working relationships that Horatio can be said to have in all of Wittenberg. He doesn’t exactly have many friends... Horatio keeps to his studies, but he isn’t unsociable. And he bears the moods of Guildenstern and Rosencrantz with ease from all Hamlet hears.  
He only gets to see it, however, when he one day happens to overhear a conversation Horatio has with the pair in the library.

Admittedly, he has been going after Horatio for a while and it seems that Horatio, in turn, is trying to avoid him. Hamlet doesn’t let that worry him too much. He hasn’t so far been making an entirely sane impression after all. He makes light-hearted attempts to seek Horatio’s presence, careful ones, and doesn’t directly approach him to not scare him off... With time passing and Horatio’s hesitant reactions to his actions, however, he wonders... what Horatio might think of him.  
And he doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, really, he doesn’t. But one afternoon he is looking for Ros and Guil in the library and when he finds them in their usual corner he only stops for a moment when he sees Horatio sitting with them, reading over an essay. He means to step in then, greet them, make his presence known, but then it just so happens that his title is mentioned and he remains standing in place where he is, curious to hear how it goes on. He isn’t even hiding from them, but standing visibly a line of shelves down the library corridor, only a few metres away so that they could see him if only they looked... So it really isn’t his fault. It’s not even eavesdropping, really, when there is no effort to it.

It goes something like this:  
“Horatio is a remarkable example, but hardly a student can compare with him in all of Wittenberg!” Guildenstern says to Rosencrantz in debate of something. “Or can you give me one name more of an honourable student who knows his languages as well as Horatio does?”  
And Rosencrantz, from a windowsill, shoots back, “I sure can, Guil. Or do you see our sweet prince anywhere around? I’m sure he is out in the streets drinking, starting up a quarrel with some local in fluent German right now.”  
It is that first statement that gives Hamlet pause and he leans against a bookshelf, crossing his arms.  
Guildenstern rolls his eyes. “Well had I a – brain – the size of his,” Hamlet barely suppresses his laughter at that remark, “I would be holding myself in any language with quite the same confidence as he is. But you cannot possibly be asking me to compare myself to him! He is the only noble I know of in all of Wittenberg who hands in his essays when they are actually due!”  
At this again, Hamlet wants to chuckle and step in to thank them, but before he can Horatio _snorts_ and the attention of Rosencrantz, Guildenstern _and_ Hamlet is immediately drawn to him.  
“An opinion, Horatio?” Rosencrantz asks eagerly and Hamlet leans forward a little. He definitely wants to hear that as least as much as Ros does.  
Horatio seems very uncomfortable with the fact that he let such a reaction slip. He coughs and blushes a little. “Not at all, my lord,” he mutters politely.  
Guildenstern, however, to Hamlet’s delight, will have none of it. “Oh come now, don’t lie to us, Horatio!”  
And Horatio grits his teeth. “My lords, I am sure I am not in the least entitled to an opinion on any matter regarding the prince.”  
Rosencrantz laughs loudly at that – Hamlet absent-mindedly notices that Horatio is so caught up in his fight for composure that he doesn’t even remember to shush Ros for being loud in the library. “Oh, Horatio, don’t make yourself boring! I am sure it was just yesterday in our lecture on logic and scholarly discourse that you proudly defended your point that any educated individual is free to an opinion on any matter, be it his place to speak of it or not!”  
Horatio keeps his eyes fixed on the essay in front of him, but his blush creeps up to his cheeks. Hamlet finds it utterly endearing. “Well then, my lord, it is surely not my place.”  
This is interesting indeed. Horatio tries hard to get back to a point where protocol protects him by insisting on it, but Ros and Guil aren’t willing to believe his show of it for a moment... Hamlet has suspected before that Horatio has a somewhat complex attitude regarding protocol and social expectations. After all, he is a scholar equal, no, superior, to most of the nobility in Wittenberg, but nevertheless, he is inferior to them in status. There seems to be a tension there.  
Guildenstern picks up on it as well. “Oh but we give you the space, Horatio, do make it place! And didn’t you win that debate, proudly too, saying that a scholar should be in the place to voice any opinion, rightfully formed, on any such subject out of his reach, and if with careful respect still no less loudly?”  
Horatio sighs heavily and corrects a few mistakes in the essay he is reading. Ros and Guil are merciless though and keep staring expectantly.  
“Oh please, Horatio,” Rosencrantz finally quietly says. “We truly do appreciate how freely you speak of and to any nobility. It is refreshing if nothing else, and what many a man here deserves to hear, but never has.”  
Hamlet hums quietly. So this is what Guildenstern and Rosencrantz find so interesting in Horatio? It figures, he supposes. They would like a commoner ready to overstep his boundaries, especially one who would know to do it with such care and precision as Horatio wears easily in debate. Ros and Guil, ever in favour of the skilfully daring.  
Horatio, finally, gives in and looks up with another small sigh. “Well, that is precisely the matter, my lord. You see, this German essay that your comrade has, judging by its quality, only started on today – or so I hope, judging by the quality of it – that very German essay has been handed in by the prince Hamlet a week ago.”  
“Yes,” Guil agrees.  
Which was half a month later than it has actually been due,” Horatio swiftly continues, and there is that attractiveness in the way he holds himself when making an argument again... “You see, my lords, your kind runs on other due dates than a man like I does. Truly, I know of not a single noble in all of Wittenberg that has ever handed a piece of work in on time because you can freely take a date and interpret day and month as something else than what is says. Perhaps prince Hamlet hands his work in on _your_ time, but in actual fact he definitely does not hand it in any more on time than any other noble in Wittenberg.”  
Hamlet can’t help his smile. It’s true. And it is just that Horatio should have some pride on that. But more than anything, it pleases Hamlet that Horatio judges him and all the other nobles by the same measures he would be judged by, even while aware that the rest of Wittenberg and the world do not. Hamlet wishes oftentimes more people were of a mindset ready to see a prince the same way they see any common student of a university. There should be less of a difference, he thinks, and the world would be a better place for it, if at least people could see they should be judged by the same virtues.  
Ros and Guil exchange a look while Horatio turns back to the essay, but the pair doesn’t seem remotely ready to leave the matter be yet.  
“Pray tell, Horatio – forgive our curiosity,” Rosencrantz leans forward in his seat, “but we would dearly like to know: What do you think of the young prince Hamlet?”  
Now, _that_ proves to be interesting. Horatio startles visibly and blinks to buy time, barely concealed dread written over his face. “My lord... I would rather speak to you of the matter, to be truthful.”  
“But why not?” Rosencrantz inquires. “You are usually not hesitant to speak to us of your opinion of any noble at university. What is the difference now?”  
“Is royalty where you draw the line?” Guildenstern asks with genuine curiosity. “To speak freely in critical words of nobility is an ability you have mastered, with little hesitance, good conscience and fair confidence. Surely, it would surprise me, should speaking this way of royalty be too dangerous to you, but not very... So is his title what makes you hesitate?”  
Horatio gives them an afflicted look. “Not quite, my lords.”  
“You think of royalty no more highly than of all other nobility?” Rosencrantz pokes on and Horatio looks like he is about to groan. Hamlet can’t blame him. There is no escaping Ros and Guil at their worst and this is definitely their worst if even Horatio cracks under it.  
“I think no less highly of nobility than they deserve, my lords, I have told you oft enough – royalty’s rule of the world is as just as God will have it, I simply think that they are to be regarded with no greater respect as scholars solely for their title, but that often they assume to be deserving of greater respect as scholars when they are indeed not. It is no different with royalty than with any other nobility, but that they can be assuming of even greater respect as it is.”  
Some inner part of Hamlet cheers at that, some other part of him inquires why he should be _so_ delighted to be of the same mind as Horatio on this matter...  
“Yes, we know your opinions.” Guildenstern smiles lightly. “So if royalty is no different than nobility in your scholarly regard, then why won’t you share with us your opinions on prince Hamlet?”  
Horatio hesitates a moment, before he looks up from the essay again. “My lords, you are, I take it, quite close friends to his Highness the prince?”  
“Quite close,” Guildenstern repeats in agreement.  
“And, my lords... I also assume that you are sent with him to Wittenberg to report back to the court in Elsinor any interesting thing and matter taking place in his life?”  
Guildenstern and Rosencrantz fall silent at that. Hamlet, on the other hand, nearly _gasps._ This is a culmination of all the terms on his list: interesting, impressive, attractive – and he has just struck Rosencrantz and Guildenstern speechless! If there is something like perfection in the form of a single man in heaven and earth, Hamlet is sure he has found it. Not in all his philosophy would he have dreamt of it.  
Ros and Guil eventually recover from this blow.  
“So he is fair _and_ wise,” Rosencrantz mutters.  
“Fairly too wise,” Guildenstern jokes and Hamlet grimaces because he has a distinct feeling that the two lords calling Horatio fair is in mockery of Hamlet’s more passionate orations about Horatio...  
Horatio takes a breath, but says nothing and just watches as Rosencrantz finally leaves his place in the windowsill and slips into the chair next to Guildenstern. “It is a dangerous sport, that,” he conversationally says. “You see, we truly do care for the prince. And yet we have our duties to fulfil. And our lord Hamlet understands that very well, you see. It is a careful balance, that of love and duty... And a difficult one to hold at times.”  
Hamlet grits his teeth. He knows their struggle, knows that they appreciate their position nearly as little as he does... Except that he is at the worse end of it, of course, and they take their benefits from it even as they struggle. They are dear friends and Hamlet forgives them because he knows the complications of duty, but it grates on him to have to hide parts of himself from his closest friends for his and their sakes...  
Horatio seems untouched by it though. “My lords, I should not think so,” is all he mildly says.  
“You should not?” Guildenstern asks, sounding as curious as Hamlet feels.  
“No, my lords. Methinks that no duty is a greater one to hold then one of love.” That gives Hamlet pause.  
Rosencrantz smiles slyly. “Well, good Horatio, you are of no noble blood, as you say yourself. Perhaps there are differences between us nobles and you commoners after all.”  
“I think not, at heart, mind, soul, or conscience, my lords,” Horatio shoots back. Hamlet cannot help a wide smile. He has taken an interest in the man for weeks, sure, but now he is positive that he really very much _likes_ Horatio. “Either way, now I find myself in a strange position when speaking to you of the prince that I would rather not be in. For I know not how, truly, you regard him, in one sense or the other. And I know not what of that which I say you will regard in which way, and therefore do not know how to speak to you of him without putting myself, his Highness or you in a position possibly compromising in ways I could not possibly assess fully.”  
Amusement seeps back into Ros and Guil and Horatio relaxes a little. It’s good to see him relaxed, Hamlet thinks...  
“It seems, Horatio, that you are fairer to us in this regard than we deserve in your eyes,” Rosencrantz says. And Guil adds right to it, “Nevertheless, I would have loved to hear your assessment of the prince! He is of a remarkable mind, you’d have to agree. He masters all studies with ease and draws in any man with his charms. And yet, there is nobody yet who can have claimed to have been safe from or truly understanding of his moods. Some say the royalty has taken heavily to his mind. Truly, I think, the freedoms of Wittenberg draw out of him what has been carefully contained for years at court!” The last bit is muttered conspiratorially, and Rosencrantz laughs out loud.  
“Like we wouldn’t know ourselves how intoxicating the freedoms of Wittenberg can be!” he says and Guildenstern gives him the fondest look. Hamlet shakes his head is bemusedly, these two are truly made for each other.  
“Truly, I think that the prince is in need of a mind to match his. He is in some sort of great imbalance that brings on his moods, and what can help this if not a kindred mind?” Rosencrantz adds conversationally then.  
Guil is quick to join in with a grin. “Not just a mind, but perhaps a heart and soul and body, too, don’t you think?”  
Hamlet is about to huff quietly because he can see what these two are doing and _oh, they shouldn’t_ , but then he sees Horatio _blush_ and, oh... that is...  
“Well,” Horatio mutters. “Judging by what I have seen of his moods, I would say that you will busy yourself for a while with finding a mind to match his. Either way, I am not sure how you will want to find it if you cannot even draw up a readable essay in German. I suggest you busy yourself with improving your skills in that first.”  
It is too much. Hamlet’s delight at Horatio’s handling of Ros and Guil’s inquiries breaks out of him finally and he can no longer contain the soft laughter he has been holding back these past minutes. The three men at the desk turn their heads around to him at the sound. Guil and Ros grin, but Horatio blushes heavily. Hamlet cannot quite suppress the thought that the colour looks wonderful on his cheeks.  
“How long have you been standing there?” Rosencrantz asks while getting up to retrieve a book from the window sill and Guildenstern scans the essay Horatio has handed back to him.  
Hamlet smirks. “Longer than you’d like.” He lets his eyes flicker to over to Horatio who looks suspiciously like he is about to faint – and isn’t that just sweet? There’s a reaction if ever Hamlet has teased one out of him.  
Guildenstern and Rosencrantz join him to leave and right before they do, Hamlet remembers something and he pulls the copy of Aristophanes’ Comedies out of his satchel and steps up to Horatio. He places the book on the table in front of Horatio and as he leans down to do so Horatio leans back from him the slightest bit... but not nearly as much as he could without being impolite.  
“I believe this is yours.” Hamlet smiles innocently.  
Horatio stares, first at him, then at the book, then at Hamlet again. “Yes, my lord,” he utters a little breathlessly. “Thank you, my lord.”  
Hamlet studies the green speckles in Horatio’s eyes again and commits the way his breath hitched before he started holding it to mind. “No, thank _you,”_ he murmurs lowly and he can see Horatio tremble with it... The man doesn’t even seem to be too aware of his reaction to Hamlet’s proximity, he still stares up at him in nervous hesitance.  
Hamlet frees him of the tension then and steps away. Ros gives him a sceptical look, Guil a more understanding but teasing one, but he ignores them and they leave together.  
“My lord, now that you’re all besotted, we ought to have a talk about proper courtship for poor Horatio’s sake sometime,” Rosencrantz lightly jokes as they leave the library and Guildenstern boxes his friend in the side. “Shut up, Ros...”  
Hamlet smiles mildly and pretends he did not hear. But the thought is one that lingers. And he cannot as confidently say that Rosencrantz is wrong as he thought he could...

********************

##### Hamlet, Crowned Stalker Of Wittenberg

Hamlet makes a decision later that week: It is about time he faces his obsessions regarding Horatio and it is equally about time Horatio faced why Hamlet’s near presence makes him so uncomfortable. Horatio, however, seems to be of the opposite opinion and while Hamlet seeks for ways to approach Horatio, Horatio looks for places he can go to avoid Hamlet’s presence.  
Now, on the one hand that is interesting to Hamlet again because Horatio wouldn’t bother so much if there wasn’t possibly something more to it. On the other hand, it is rather irritating and Hamlet will have none of it. Of course Horatio notices that Hamlet waylays him now, it’s not like Hamlet considers Horatio to be stupid or inconsequential enough to oversee it. It is all subtle enough in the public spaces, but when Hamlet waits on him in the philosophy society’s debate room the day after Horatio first chooses to hide from him there and Horatio still does not confront him on the matter, but leaves this room as well, Hamlet grows rather annoyed. Then, Horatio disappears for over a week and Hamlet cannot find him. He gives up eventually and does what he so far refrained from doing: He pulls a few strings by dropping his name and title. He doesn’t feel great about it, but at least it gets him the results he was looking for.

And indeed he finds Horatio in the greenhouse on the tenth day of his disappearance, muttering to himself while trying to learn 40 lines of Vergil by heart.  
Hamlet finds hiding in the university greenhouse a little hysterical, desperate in the least. And it doesn't even appear like Horatio _really_ doesn't want to see or to be in a room with him. Rather it is like a strange game that escalated with Hamlet's more forward attempts to get into Horatio's space. Oh but Hamlet is not one to lose such a game and if Horatio thinks he can outrun the reason why he avoids Hamlet, well he definitely cannot outrun Hamlet so he'll have to face both eventually.  
Hamlet solemnly strives through the greenhouse for a while and tries some berries from one of the less poisonous-looking bushes - he shouldn't, of course, but a nervous recklessness has overtaken him now that he has practically cornered Horatio and it is just the two of them here. (Also, a less likable part of him finds the thought that the berries in this greenhouse might be poisonous far from unsettling, but that's a problem to consider some other time. Or rather to not consider at all and try outrunning any day.)  
Horatio notices him after a while has passed of course. After all, as stated before, the man isn't stupid, far from it in fact.  
When Horatio turns his head at a sound Hamlet hurries to throw himself behind a line of bushes - Christ knows why. It's not like the greenhouse is all that big and Horatio hasn't seen or won't find him, but now that he’s started he sees no other way but to follow through with his strategy and he scrambles to his feet again and down the line of bushes to another patch. Here he only just manages to position himself between some seedlings before Horatio catches up to him. Something crumbles in Horatio’s face when he recognises him.  
Hamlet does the only thing that seems sensible, he goes for absolute absurdity before Horatio can come to and start asking uncomfortable questions. “Before you ask,” he blurts out confidently, “I am pretending to be a bush.”  
Horatio does not seem satisfied with that information. That’s probably reasonable. But Hamlet has nowhere to go from there so when Horatio keeps quiet he just continues down his line of improvised insanity.“It is just that I woke up this morning wondering how plants might feel and as I could not find an answer to my musing, I decided to follow the modern philosophical way of experiencing the nature of a thing by attempting to get as close to it in being as possible.”  
Still nothing from Horatio, but Hamlet can go on like this for hours.  
“And so I felt that the greenhouse was the best place to start. Wouldn’t you think?” Asking for a reaction might be a good way to try turning this conversation around, he thinks. It turns out that it’s not. The something that crumbled in Horatio’s face earlier disappears now and is replaced by an irritated determination.  
“My lord, are you following me?”  
Ah. Here we are with the uncomfortable questions. There is no escaping them after all. Or is there, Hamlet wonders. He is not one to be taken aback by a simple direct question.  
He gives Horatio a blank look, followed by a winning smile. “Are you a plant, Horatio? For if you are, pretending to be you would surely prove more interesting than this...”  
In retrospect, he isn’t sure what reaction he expected to this – not that he makes a habit of thinking that far ahead anyway – but he is certainly a little surprised when Horatio just turns on the spot and leaves. Hamlet is quick to follow. He hasn’t tracked Horatio down all the way to the greenhouse just to have him run off again now.  
“Where are you going?” He tries for genuine curiosity, but Horatio, it seems, is more annoyed than he anticipated.  
“Some other place. I would hate to interfere with Your Highness’s attempt at studying the nature of plants.” There is a wonderful note of sarcasm there that Hamlet would like to hear more of. But it seems that he has to come up with a plan or he won’t hear another word of it because Horatio is gathering his belongings and not even Hamlet’s disapproving hum makes him halt in his course.  
When Horatio comes back to his feet and turns to leave the greenhouse, Hamlet still hasn’t come up with something sensible so he opts for the first thing his mind comes up with.  
“Very considerate, Horatio, fairly well – before you go, one question if you will. Pray tell, which berries are poisonous around here?”

Horatio stops dead in his tracks. Interesting, well, Hamlet’s always been good at improvising, but he didn’t expect that to work quite so well.  
Horatio’s answer comes in a very tense voice. “All of them, except the green ones – they are hallucinogens.”  
Oh well. That explains Horatio’s sudden agitation then. It’s a shame he only ate the green ones, it would be so fascinating to see whether Horatio would freak out if he had eaten any of the others... Hamlet makes a joke that he personally thinks is brilliant, but Horatio doesn’t laugh. Well, perhaps it’s the hallucinogens and his joke isn’t all that funny. Come to think of it, Hamlet does feel a little lightheaded... It’s not exactly unfamiliar territory. Depending on how strong these berries are it shouldn’t be long until they take their full effect now. Hamlet personally thinks that the whole thing is _hilarious,_ but Horatio looks outright horrified.  
“Oh wow it’s alright! It could _not_ have been the green ones after all! And it’s not the first time I’m on hallucinogens, I won’t die!” But that only seems to upset Horatio even more. Hamlet, in the meantime, can’t stop laughing. Yes, these berries are definitely something... “You look awfully disapproving, Horatio. What is the matter?”  
Horatio sounds nearly miserable. “My lord, I do not wish to have any knowledge of your experience with drugs.”  
Hamlet grins. He only just realised that he knows how to get Horatio to stay now – some improvisation and a bit of luck was all it took after all. “Well, I’m afraid there’s no getting around it now. I will need somebody to look after me in this state so that I don’t wander off thinking it is a wonderful idea to eat any more of any of these berries – and you are the only one here.”  
If Horatio looked miserable before he looks appalled now. “Oh no, there is _no_ way we are staying here with you in this condition. I am taking you to the infirmary!”  
Hamlet can’t help but think that he likes this determined and stern side of Horatio as he watches the man turn around to go. Hamlet settles down on the floor instead of following. He has no intention to leave. And also his legs have started feeling like they’re three metres long and he doesn’t acutely want to explore what will happen if he tries to walk.  
Horatio notices that Hamlet isn’t following him eventually and turns back around to find him lying on the floor. “My lord?” he asks, worry audible in his voice. _Good, he worries,_ Hamlet thinks. _So he actually doesn’t hate you then._ But the use of his title irritates Hamlet. It doesn’t feel right in this setting at all. He clicks his tongue. “We’ll have to work on that.”  
“Work? On what, my lord?”  
Hamlet looks up at Horatio. He’s all confusion again. It’s a cute look on him. “That,” he responds. “’My lord...’”  
Irritation seeps back into Horatio’s facial expression. It will drive Hamlet insane how responsive he is, surely. It is way too thrilling to watch. “Well, how would you have me regard you, my lord?”  
_Ready to negotiate, are we now?_ Hamlet wonders. Or is it just politeness?  
“Just ‘Hamlet.’”  
“I can’t do that, my lord”  
Hamlet sighs. “Of course not.” That fight would have been won too easily anyway. Well, they’ll have time to work on that. “Well, we cannot go to the infirmary. The doctor there will think that I have attempted to poison myself and write to my parents and under no circumstances will I let _that_ happen again.”  
Horatio is puzzled by that. “Why would he think that?”  
Hamlet gives him a moment to reconsider it and slowly but surely understanding dawns on Horatio’s face. The gravity of it seems to weigh down so much on him that he has to sit down. But Hamlet won’t complain because he sits next to him, close enough that Hamlet could reach out a hand touch him if he wanted to... To his (very mild) surprise he finds that want he does. He doesn’t do it of course. He has other things to concentrate on for now anyway. His vision is getting a bit blurry.  
“Well, but we still cannot stay here,“ Horatio thinks out loud. “Someone might come in any minute and as much as I doubt they would care about your misconduct, I am sure the university will not hesitate to expel me for my neglected assistance in the form of not taking you to the infirmary after you ate berries from some bush that neither of us knows the full potential of.”  
Hamlet cocks his head in agreement. “A fair enough point. Where shall we go then? Your chambers?” He finds that thought rather appealing, but the smallest shudder runs through Horatio at the idea.  
“Out of the question. What about your chambers?”  
Hamlet plays with the thought of Horatio in his chambers for a moment. Interestingly appealing as well, and something more... But his steadily more absent mind actually produces logistical objections. “No way. Too many students scattered around the hallways on the way and around there.”  
Horatio nearly looks relieved at the sound of that, but protests still. “Well, if we make it to them before you start feeling the berries’ effects...”  
Hamlet chuckles, admittedly a little madly. “I’m afraid it’s a little late for that.” He can’t quite feel his back anymore whereas his hands and feet feel like they’re made of glass. If he thinks on it too hard, moving them _sounds_ like they’re made of glass too...  
Horatio groans in frustration. Hamlet tries to concentrate on that for now.  
“What is wrong with your chambers?”  
Horatio sighs. “Several things, my lord. For one, they aren’t exactly chambers, it is rather a room. Secondly, I am currently avoiding my landlord and if he finds me attending to a fellow student who happens to be high on hallucinogens he will surely take it as reason enough to throw me out without a three week notice period. But most of all, the place is in a horrible condition and I am afraid that should my rooms collapse onto the crowned prince of Denmark and kill him, I will surely go to hell for it, or at least my family’s good name will be ruined for all of eternity.”  
Hamlet laughs so hard at that that there are tears in his eyes. He really should have sought to befriend Horatio earlier. He would have if the other hadn’t been so insistent on avoiding his presence which made him hesitant and curious in turn. But now his wish to befriend this man is renewed and stronger than ever.  
It takes Hamlet a while to calm down and he grins at seeing Horatio’s mildly worried smile. “Well then, I fear, we will have to stay here after all,” he declares. “The good news is that hardly anyone ever comes in here so you should be rather safe from being expelled. Seriously, this place is as secluded a place as you can find at university – it took me over a week to figure out you were hiding here.”  
Horatio has been shifting a little in his position and nearly trips to one side as he startles at that. “So you _have_ been following me!”  
Oh damn... These berries aren’t having the best effect on his control of what he says. Well, now that is out, Hamlet supposes. “Oops. Well, it seems that I must confess.”  
Something has changed about Horatio’s face. In it, Hamlet finds something more akin to what he himself feels in regard to the other man – curiosity, and something else, something he can’t quite explain... “May one inquire what has driven you to follow me around then, my lord?”  
Hamlet considers that for a moment. It is becoming increasingly hard to focus, but Horatio is... But what is he supposed to say to that? _I like you?_ A little forward. _You’re interesting._ A little uncanny. _I don’t really know._ Well, that’s precisely the matter. And perhaps, Hamlet still thinks, there is some greater truth to that than they both know. So he settles for the implication of it with a hum. After all Horatio has been shunning him without clear reason as well.  
“That wholly depends. May one inquire why you have been avoiding my presence, good Horatio?”  
Horatio falls silent at that. But no irritation returns to his face, instead the curiosity settles somewhere in it and Hamlet still catches himself thinking that it’s a good thing that makes him feel oddly warm, but then he loses the gist of their conversation somewhere around that point as the berries’ effect fully kicks in.

Hamlet later only recalls some moments of it. He remembers asking Horatio to read his studies to him and making jokes about it and Horatio laughing – oh _yes._ Horatio’s laughter is something that he remembers very clearly. He commits it to memory with great care, the way he sounds, the way he relaxes, the way he leans to one side a little and the green in his eyes comes out more clearly. The way he returns the jokes and they get lost in fits of mindless banter. It is beautiful. Hamlet has no other word for it. And it moves something within him, something... more. Something that he thought he knew once, but that was never quite like this.  
He thinks a lot about that somewhere amidst all the visions and sensations distracting him. At some point his anxiety strikes him and he is threatened to be washed away by it, but then Horatio’s gentle voice reaches through the fog surrounding his senses and when Hamlet, feeling somewhat small and scared, asks Horatio to _ground him_ \- whatever he must have been thinking to say this – Horatio doesn’t even hesitate really, but reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder and everything stops again. The turmoil of emotions and storm of chaos in Hamlet’s mind dissipates and makes room for something light and soft but solid that settles in his chest and doesn’t let go anymore. It’s... good. It’s right. He feels grounded and safe and... fixated. He didn’t know that could be a good feeling.  
The nagging at the back of his mind becomes something else and it’s really not just the back of his mind anymore, it’s not even only his mind, it’s all of him and it’s strange to think that... That he has been running after this man for weeks somehow and now _here he is_ and he isn’t sure why, but...

He thinks about Ophelia. He thinks about her for a long time. About how he thought he could love her once. About how he does, but it... But it isn’t all of him that loves her. It is strained and painful and unfair because she loves him with her everything, but he couldn’t find it in him to return those feelings. It was the best he could do to be honest with her because he does love her, but _not like that_ and she was so sweet and kind about it and he just... Hamlet has thought for the longest time that it must be him, that he is too broken to love like that, that some part of him is forever barred from it and that he shall never be happy so how could he possibly love. Thinking that broke him once and then he found his acceptance for it. And he found the dearest of friends in Ophelia and some freedom and joy in Wittenberg, but it wasn’t... Some part of him would forever fight the seeds of happiness and there was nothing of that feeling he might allow himself to but couldn’t feel, that feeling that might take him by a shoulder and ground him, take him by a hand and guide him to learn to be happy. _Really_ happy. Not the fleeting version of it that he clings onto because he can’t do that to his parents or to Ophelia or to Denmark or maybe he is just too scared of – that which he wants to do in his darkest moments that he dreads and fears and wishes would end, only if he could—  
No, he tried to love and it nearly took him apart. He found himself incapable of it and was glad enough for having a friend in Ophelia who did what she could to understand. But now... Now _this..._  
Now a hand on his arm, a smile at his jokes, an occasional stare his way when he for once doesn’t look...  
And he had forsworn himself to love. He was so sure it was the best thing, the only one that would make sense, maybe just enough to keep him alive, but... Gosh, he was sure he didn’t deserve it either. He thought he could live with no wish for it. But what has been happening to him over these past weeks is...  
A wave of complex emotions overcomes him and he has to reach out and hold onto whatever part of Horatio that he can reach.  
“Have you ever been in love, Horatio?” And there it is. _In love..._ Oh, how horribly silly he has been...  
It all breaks out of him now and he isn’t entirely sure what he says – most of it probably barely makes sense – but when he is done and has erratically asked Horatio whether he understands, whether he knows the feeling – and he is sure that Horatio will stare at him in confusion, that he will leave him here and now and will call him insane – but then—  
“Well, my lord... I suppose... Well, I think that in an abstract way I do.” It is not the arrangement of words that Hamlet would have dreamed of, but there is something about the way Horatio is _looking_ at him... And doesn’t that make an awful lot of sense? There is a gravity there, somewhere between them. He is sure that Horatio is feeling it as much as he is, but for the matter of what Horatio feels...  
“Well, perhaps that is better than to concretely know it,” he says eventually. Because it’s probably true. And then, something else comes to his easily distracted mind. “Have you read the notes I left in your volume of Aristophanes’?”  
Horatio immediately blushes a deep shade of red. Hamlet grins. Oh _yes,_ that is definitely a good sign. “I – I have, my lord.”  
Hamlet smiles a meaningful smile. “Did you like them?” It’s not his fault. He wouldn’t tease Horatio so much if Horatio didn’t make it so much _fun._  
Horatio coughs. “I found them widely entertaining and in many points agreeable, my lord.”  
And he even has the courage to stand by his opinion. Hamlet grins. “Good.”  
“At times quite particular in choice of words,” Horatio adds pointedly, almost on a scolding note... or is it a challenging one?  
“Don’t you think that Aristophanes is so as well a lot of times though? I thought it only fitting really.”  
Horatio smiles at that. “Perhaps you are most right, my lord.”  
“Most definitely I am.” Hamlet closes his eyes. It is a rather relaxing feeling to be chattering with Horatio like this. And Horatio’s hand is still on his shoulder, grounding him.  
“I just marvelled at where a prince would learn such expressions, that is all.”  
Oh, so a challenge it was. Well, Hamlet can definitely work with that. He gives Horatio another broad grin and says, heavy with implication, “A prince knows his ways to learn what he is curious about. And since arriving in Wittenberg even more than before, I have learned from the best. And believe me, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are the best in all such aspects.” Truly, Ros and Guil have been happily inviting once they realised he all but disapproved of their relationship and they have let Hamlet in on a... secret of two when he was curious. Hamlet hasn’t made a habit of overstraining their companionship though. He just likes to see Horatio squirm – and he wants to test the waters by closely observing Horatio’s reactions. Some part of Hamlet inquires critically whether he has ulterior motives, but the thought doesn’t linger in his blurry mind.  
Horatio blushes deeply again. “I have no doubt they are, my lord.” Delightful. Hamlet has a thought...  
“Nay,” he sighs. “They are awfully daft at times and more talkative than is good for them, and surely, they report at least half of all the words I ever speak on to the court, but they do know which half to leave out, and they are good men, really.” He cracks one eye open. “I do feel a demand for more sensible company every once in a while though. It isn’t the most pleasant thing to mind even half my words in the presence of my closest companions.”  
“I imagine not,” Horatio quietly agrees and there is something to his tone, yes, there definitely is...  
“And imagine you must,” Hamlet says. “You hesitate not to say aloud every word on your mind, it seems.”  
“Nay, good prince,” Horatio laughs. “That is but half the truth. Were I to speak every word on my mind, I fear I would spend most of the hours in a day talking. I simply have a tendency to utter things aloud that it would be better for my health and future I kept to myself.”  
“Then why do you utter them?”  
“Well, my lord, I fear it would be worse for my sanity to keep them to myself than it is for my health and future to make them be heard... But truly, perhaps it is some terrible form of pride. I fear it is my worst habitude.”  
Good heavens, the more the man speaks the more Hamlet likes him helplessly. No other discourse in Wittenberg has been quite as enjoyable as his banter with Horatio. He smirks. “Nay, there must be some other naughtiness that we can coax out of you.”  
Horatio smiles a mild smile. It is good to see him more bold than uncomfortable in their talks by now, even if a flustered Horatio is a very delightful Horatio. “My lord, you’d be the first to be successful.”  
Now, _that_ is a challenge if ever Hamlet has heard one! He grins. “That challenge I readily accept.”  
Horatio cringes. “My lord, I meant not—“  
But Hamlet’s mind is already scheming and he ignores Horatio’s half-hearted objections, letting the hallucinogens in his blood wash over him again.

Hamlet really has been on hallucinogens before and truly he has had some bad trips. But this one is different from all he has experienced before – and he doesn’t think it’s the berries, really. There is something to be said for being stuck in this greenhouse with Horatio by his side. Really, there is something to be said for _Horatio._ His voice and demeanour have a naturally soothing effect on Hamlet’s nerves and his laughter and scolding looks when Hamlet wants to creep off make his heart flutter. Somewhere in the background of all the feelings coursing through him Hamlet is very aware that he is irrecoverable, but for the first time ever it is not a bad thing, in fact it doesn’t even matter. And whatever this is, Horatio is _talking_ to him, he is _laughing_ with him and his presence and compassion are something that Hamlet will not let go off again readily. He dearly prays to the gods of his Viking ancestors that he won’t have to.

It is late when it comes to him. He is lying in his spot, slowly but surely feeling less affected by the berries he ate in the early afternoon and out of the corner of his eyes he catches a glimmering light... He raises his head slightly and truly – there are hundreds of tiny lights rising from the plants, hovering in the air of the greenhouse and bringing a magical light to their surroundings. It is the most unreal and the most beautiful thing he has seen all day and as he has done several times over the last few hours, he now again calls out, “Horatio, look!”  
And as every time Horatio looks up again, but this time he stops and stares and then softly whispers, “I see them too, my lord.”  
Hamlet laughs incredulously at that. “What, Horatio, you mean to say that of all things I have seen today, _this_ is the one that is really happening?” He uses his leverage from where his hand is still on Horatio’s knee to sit up. “Wow, what a lucky day I am having...”  
He looks around and takes in the beauty of the fireflies. His eyes fall on Horatio eventually and...  
For a long moment Hamlet cannot breathe. Horatio is looking at the scene before him in awe and admiration and his expression is so soft and so open and... And Hamlet realises with a start that the fireflies are not at all the most beautiful thing he has seen all day. It all comes back to him at once and it all makes _so much sense_ in this very moment. Of course, this is what falling in love feels like.  
They are sitting close, facing different directions, Horatio’s hand still on Hamlet’s shoulder. And Hamlet wants to lean into the warmth that is this man next to him who has looked after him for an entire afternoon and who he is somehow very much falling for so fast that he couldn’t stop it if he wanted to – and why would he want to? Everything is always chaos for Hamlet, everything but Horatio. Everything is always tiring and dull eventually, but not Horatio. Everything disappoints him and makes him only more numb to the world, but this... is forceful and reviving and wonderful.  
He leans a little closer to Horatio to speak into his ear – because it seems appropriate to speak lowly in the magical atmosphere of the moment, mainly, but also because he finds it hard to stop himself – “I think the effect of the berries has fully worn off. By any means, I imagine it is time we leave this place before someone locks us in for the night.” – and when he speaks a shiver runs through Horatio and Hamlet holds his breath for a moment... But the moment passes.  
They help each other to their feet, limbs stiff and uncomfortable from sitting, or in Hamlet’s case lying, for so long. They leave the greenhouse in companionable silence, walking only a step apart. Hamlet cares for this cautious new proximity, this new balance between them and he is hesitant to risk it, but as they are standing on campus again he gathers his courage and speaks.  
“As we have missed dinner... would you perhaps care for a late meal? We might skip by the kitchens...”  
Horatio sways a little and Hamlet only now really sees how tired he is – of course, he has stayed awake well into the night, worriedly looking after a foolish prince. Hamlet feels terribly inconsiderate. But Horatio doesn’t seem to mind the idea of food so much. He nevertheless declines, but there is no resolve, no finality to it and definitely no resentment.  
Hamlet nods and gives a compassionate smile. “Very well. As you wish. But I will have to make it up to you some time. You spent an entire afternoon and evening looking after me because of my carelessness – thank you. And I must apologise. I will do my best to look for a way to make it up to you if you will let me.”  
Horatio looks troubled for a moment and horribly tired, but something crosses over his face, some sort of emotion and he inclines his head. Hamlet’s heart feels light with immediate relief.  
“But another time,” he quickly says. “I see you need your sleep. We will see. Thank you for your compassion for now, Horatio. And a sweet night.”  
They stand in tense silence for a moment and Hamlet feels a strong pull towards Horatio that he can just so resist. He steps past Horatio and pats him on the shoulder briefly, the contact sending sparks down his arm and spine to settle somewhere in his stomach. Wow, he has not anticipated things to become so intense so soon...

They part and Hamlet returns to his chambers and falls onto his bed with a low sigh and sleeps well into noon. When he wakes up there is a smile on his face that he cannot explain until the memories of the night before wash over him and he lies staring at the ceiling of his chambers for a long while, smile never fading and heart feeling impossibly light and like it’s overflowing at the same time. _In love._ He tries the words out in his mind. _With Horatio._ He cautiously whispers it to itself.  
Yes, there is something definitely right about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are! How did you like it? Please let me know. I feel like somehow this turned out even longer than the counterside...
> 
> I am so immersed in Hamratio, I literally cannot write anything else anymore and I check for new fics daily soooo maybe write something yourselves? Or send me prompts and ideas for more Hamratio fics because I'm all about writing more stuff, but I don't have that many ideas! Seriously. Please send me prompts.
> 
> There hopefully will be more of this very soon, depending on how busy I am with life. Read you soon anyway.  
> And here's a pun for your efforts.
> 
> How did the picture end up in jail?  
> It was framed!
> 
> Yours faithfully,  
> the devil's first angel


	2. A Friend In Need...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamlet and Horatio grow closer and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern observe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, did I say this fic was gonna be solely from Hamlet's perspective? Well, I lied!  
> But listen. The thing is that Hamlet's emotional development happens a whole chapter before Horatio's in every step and he is faster to grow aware of it as well and so there is like an entire loose chapter in which emotionally not much is happening for Hamlet in terms of development? And I was starting to write this from Hamlet's POV, but then it was really sorta boring and I was gonna add scenes from Ros and Guil's perspective anyway cause I thought it might be fun and then I thought - actually... why not do all of it from their perspective? And I think that made it way better. Obviously, this doesn't feature all the scenes of the original's second chapter, but it has about an equal length and I am very satisfied. I hope so will you be, so without further ado - here's your second chapter!

It is a straining issue, being friends with the prince Hamlet _and_ an associate to the Danish court. In an ideal world these two things would be equivalent or in the least happily compatible, but Rosencrantz knows that the world is far from ideal – and that counts for Elsinore even more than for the rest of it. He has only been to Elsinore a couple of times himself, with Guildenstern by his side every time and he honestly does not think he would have withstood a single time of it alone and kept sane. To him the instability of Hamlet’s moods is no riddle, nor inexplicable either. There is something rotten about the innermost state of Denmark, and it is not prince Hamlet as the general public may readily believe, but instead it is something that the poor prince has suffered under and had to bear for all the years of his life without pause. Wittenberg is... somewhat of a relief to Hamlet. And it is the same for Ros and Guil. It is relieving, and wondrous, to truly get to _know_ and befriend the prince – to know and befriend a man so much more fun and frank and frivolous than he has ever appeared to be back in Elsinore. And yet.... it _is_ a straining issue.  
Curiously, of all things that Rosencrantz has been silently suspecting their friendship might crack under, it comes to somewhat of a turning point over a matter he had originally least expected to be of greater notice: the matter is that of Horatio. It’s a shame that, too. Guil and he both very much _like_ Horatio. Rosencrantz really wishes he needed not be pulled into this, least of all by Hamlet. But the more time passes, the more he has to agree to Guil’s quiet chiding that Horatio readily lets himself be pulled along and that he perhaps should not blame Hamlet as much as he feels obliged to do for poor Horatio’s sake... After all, according to Guil, “we all just long for some love.” Ros, frankly, finds that ridiculous. But Guil is utterly convinced that Hamlet’s feelings are earnest and pure – on the matter of Horatio’s he remains more hesitant, but Rosencrantz is actually more inclined to believe in a development in that direction than in interpreting Hamlet’s quest for an adventurous life at Wittenberg as _love._

In truth, Rosencrantz has not thought much would come from Hamlet’s obsession with Horatio as the latter hadn’t seemed intrigued with Hamlet’s attention. But one day things have magically changed. Hamlet loses few words about it – something about an incident at the greenhouse where he tracked Horatio down after going after the man for weeks... Not that Rosencrantz cares much for the details of it. Even then, he does not think too much of it, but Guildenstern gives knowing smiles and lightly shakes his head whenever Hamlet speaks of Horatio and although Ros disagrees with his perception of things, one prophecy of Guil’s turns out to have been the truth rather quickly: and so Hamlet and Horatio continue to spend more time together.  
Ros feels a little let down by the prince’s friendship to them wavering, but Guil softy tells him not to complain considering that Hamlet would not complain were they to take more time for just the two of them without Hamlet – Rosencrantz doesn’t really see the resemblance, but who is he to complain to the prince really. One day, however, Hamlet approaches them on the matter.  
They sit in a more secluded corner of the library, for once dedicating some time to their studies again – because they cannot truly afford to spend as little on it as they’d like to and Guil cares for his and Ros’s grades very deeply and Rosencrantz cannot stand to see him disappointed – that the prince shows up and drops in the chair on the opposite side of their table. Guil looks up and smiles lightly and Ros joins in. “Your Highness.”  
“Friends,” Hamlet answers, a little out of breath. “I have an inquisition.”  
Guil frowns next to him. “Oh? What might we help you with then?”  
Hamlet leans forward conspiringly, but he hesitates before he speaks. Ros and Guil share a quick glance, worried. It is not exactly usual for Hamlet to be hesitant, and definitely not a good sign. “Pray tell,” Hamlet eventually asks carefully. “Have you written to the court and my parents about my growing friendship to Horatio?”  
They share another glance. Ros can read in Guil’s face as any man might read in a book. They have grown up together and know each other better than they know themselves. Guil’s raised eyebrow indicates a note of glee over the prince’s concerns. _I told thee he has earnest feelings._  
Rosencrantz dismisses it with a glance back. _That he asks this does not prove that in the least._ And they turn back in unison.  
“Not yet, no,” Guildenstern answers earnestly.  
Something like pained relief crosses over Hamlet’s face. “Excellent, my good friends. In faith, if you will... – I’d have you rather refrain from it in the near future as well.”  
Rosencrantz raises an eyebrow. “That will be an issue without raising their suspicion – after all there is hardly anything else to tell them about now that you spend most of your time interestingly spent with Horatio...”  
Guildenstern kicks him underneath the table and Ros grimaces at him. _What!_ Guil rolls his eyes, but Hamlet, meanwhile, seems to seriously consider Ros’s words.  
“Indeed,” he muses slowly. “Well, I’d have you hold it back another while at least, my friends. I’ll see to it to tell them of it with caution myself some time and let you know a phrase or two that you can work into your letters to not raise suspicion. Surely some questions will be asked, but all shall be well managed in due time. Just... not quite yet.”  
Rosencrantz draws his eyebrows together and looks at Guil. _Why not yet?_  
Guil sighs softly and shakes his head the slightest bit. “So you have not written to them on the matter yet then?” he conversationally asks Hamlet. “For it has come to our attention that thou hast written to Elsinore again – and I had wondered, as it seemed unlikely thou wouldst be writing to the king and queen after their late messages and the surrounding matters...” They do not speak of Hamlet’s furious breakdowns, not _openly._  
Hamlet makes a face. He does not love his friends’ knowledge of the affairs he seeks to keep more private. Neither do Ros and Guil, necessarily, but what concerns the prince is passed through their hands and really Hamlet could be off worse considering Danish nobility and his parents’ dealing with their son’s privacy...  
“I have written, yes,” Hamlet admits. “But to the lady Ophelia.”  
Guil’s eyebrows raise visibly and Rosencrantz cannot blame him as his do the same. “The lady Ophelia?” he asks, a little incredulously. “I thought thou hadst not written to her in... well, years?”  
Hamlet sighs, obviously feeling a little uncomfortable to talk about it. “Well, I had not. But I needed to share my state of mind on something that I felt a need to tell her specifically.”  
 _Something that I would not tell you,_ the words silently say. Rosencrantz frowns, but Guil gives him a warning look. _Not our place._ Indeed, and it is difficult to blame Hamlet. But yet... they _do_ care about Hamlet, and naturally would care to know what has him so emotionally conflicted that he would turn to the lady Ophelia of all people. He gives Guil a questioning look and Guil raises an eyebrow back at him. _Horatio? Probably..._ Ros is not so readily sure of that, but it seems likely enough as it is... Rosencrantz is in no way oblivious to Hamlet’s keen interest in Horatio and he is sure that it is motivated otherwise than _only_ friendship despite his obviously apparent genuine and deep care for the man’s affection – but truly _love_...?  
“Thou art faring well enough then?” Guil gently asks Hamlet. “Thou and the dear Horatio...?”  
A bright smile comes upon Hamlet’s features at the mentioning of the name. “Well enough, good Guildenstern. Although I fear that _enough_ is a straining term on that matter, truly...”  
Guil grins, but Rosencrantz merely scoffs. “Well, in the least thou art taking him the sweetest places at the most meaningful times and not simply staring after him anymore – that is more proper courting and more in terms of what Horatio is deserving of, I would believe. How do thy attempts then go to... win his affections?”  
Hamlet sighs. “There is that matter of ‘enough,’ dear friends. And I am more well served than I am deserving of, trust me, I understand that well. Horatio is...” He trails off for a moment and there is something to the way he stares into the void that is oddly familiar... That Rosencrantz thinks he may well know from the way Guildenstern looks at him at times, and perhaps... But he does not ponder on that thought. “—becoming a wonderful friend, and I dare not hope for more than his company and understanding of myself which is growing rapidly, to my delight and I hope to his, just...” Hamlet sighs again. “Well, I have been told it suits a prince to know what he can have and what not.”  
“Indeed,” Guildenstern says softly. “To know, not to assume, good lord. As thou art learning of the man and he is of thee, let thy heart act in good conscience of thy mind. Horatio seems well inclined to thy friendship.”  
“I am the most grateful of men for it under all of Wittenberg’s sun, I assure you.” Hamlet smiles lopsidedly. “I showed him to the fish market the other night – it was the most beautiful of scenes...”  
“A scene, some man may think, where it would suit a gentleman to take a young lady of his fancy...” Ros points out.  
Hamlet frowns. “I seek to be not too obvious in my actions... But it is not the easiest of things.”  
“Well let it not overwhelm thee to restlessness,” Guildenstern sympathetically pats Hamlet’s hand. “That is all the advice I know to give thee as of now.”  
Hamlet smiles, gratefully. He excuses himself from them soon after and leaves them to their studies again. Rosencrantz looks after him in doubt. “I know to tell a tale of sexual frustration, yes, but love... I know not to judge this with good sense.”  
Guil leans against his shoulder, smiling. “Dost thou truly not see, my dear? The way he looks when he speaks of Horatio... It is like when my eyes first befell thee, I can see the same sentiment in him.”  
“Dost thou fear for his heart then?” Rosencrantz asks and intertwines his fingers with his lover’s.  
Guildenstern sighs. “Well I know him impartial to longing, but heartbreak...? I would know not his heart well enough to tell, I'm afraid. One would think him not the kind for it, but neither have I known patience from him before, yet now... things are different with Horatio, are they not?“  
“That is for sure,“ Ros has to admit. “It does not surprise me to find in Horatio a game changer of many a kind, but of the prince even...“  
“None would have seen it coming,“ Guildenstern hums. “Yet, Horatio.... Well if anyone may turn his heart around, perhaps Hamlet. I have not known Horatio to obtain friendships generally, with nobility even less, but he certainly has grown fond of Hamlet.“  
“Well, we know the prince. He does not let go once set for something.“  
“Yes, but it is somewhat softer with Horatio, that, is it not?“  
Ros shrugs. “Dost thou think Horatio might be inclined to the prince then?“  
Guil sighs. “I know not. But I reckon we might as well keep an eye out. For either heart's sake, we know not what will come.“

********************

They do keep an eye out, but it becomes a vain exercise as in time Hamlet progresses to spend more and more time with Horatio and less and less with them. Rosencrantz has a heart to be upset over it, but Guildenstern tells him not to be and reminds him steadily of the poor prince’s heart’s affliction. Ros will shake his head over it, but comply. He worries, however.  
“If thou art right,” he exclaims to his beloved one day as they are sitting in bed. “And Hamlet feels for Horatio as thou dost for me or I for thee – and if Horatio, as the sweet prince seems to observe, returns all affection with hesitance and there is no chance for Hamlet’s feelings to be as steadfast returned as they are given... Well, the prince’s affections only seem to grow to greater force with time and I fear he shall wreck himself with the frustration of it. God knows he has done over lesser emotions...”  
Guil hums and presses a soothing kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I thought so as well, dearest. But then... Has it occurred to thee how well Horatio seems to deal with our prince’s moods? It is as thou he is the formerly unknown patch to even such wounds as Hamlet would at the best of times keep from us...”  
Rosencrantz thinks about that, running a hand through Guil’s hair. “Horatio doth seem to have some influence of greater good on him... And if thou art right, it may well be for the sake of love to be found in a formerly lost heart – in which case I would worry it might turn to its opposite should Hamlet come to a more painful understanding that Horatio doth not feel the same...”  
“Thou mean’st if he shall dare and Horatio reject him?” Guildenstern is leaving small kisses all over his neck and Rosencrantz sighs lightly.  
“ _If,_ indeed,” he thinks aloud. “I had yet to see a soul as loyal as Horatio before I did – and what his loyalty to the prince beholds I would not know. Also, I remain uncertain on the matter of Hamlet’s observations of the man’s heart.”  
Guildenstern stills for a moment. “Thou think’st Horatio might welcome the prince with open arms were he to ask or offer?”  
“I’faith I know not,” Rosencrantz groans and lets himself fall back on the back. Guildenstern hums in disapproval as he can no longer reach his neck, but makes quick work to crawl up to him and lie down next to him, snuggling close. “Either way I see it not coming that Hamlet should speak a word of it to Horatio,” Rosencrantz continues while Guil starts kissing him again. “And there is my greater worry that the burden of the suppressed longing will drive him to an imbalance of mind again...”  
Guil looks up from where he is fighting with Rosencrantz’s shirt. “What now, my love,” he cocks his head to one side. “I thought thou didst not believe that Hamlet has some greater, deeper emotion to contain that may drive him ‘gain to insanity?”  
“Not quite,” Ros admits with a grin. “But I do know a tale of sexual frustration!”  
Guildenstern laughs and rolls on top of him, straddling his hips. “Indeed, thou dost,” he whispers into Ros’s ear. “But that is not for here – and now let’s speak of other things, or leave speaking for later entirely.”  
Rosencrantz laughs and agrees.

********************

The matter only comes back to mind on the late afternoon of that same day. Hamlet has promised to visit a local theatre with them – formerly a regular occasion, now a seldom joy and Rosencrantz has admittedly been looking forward to it. Guildenstern and he stroll out of their last class of the day and down to the town square where they are to meet Hamlet. They find him, of course, side by side with Horatio, laughter hanging in the air surrounding them and immersed in some heated argument. Rosencrantz can pick up some of the last words that Hamlet is uttering to Horatio as they approach.  
“—think too lowly of yourself – which I would think to be a habit no less bad than arrogance in your case... Art thou simply humble for politeness’ sake or canst thou truly not see the beauty of thy own mind, Horatio?”  
The pair is far too lost in their deep conversation to notice Ros and Guil before they intrude their personal space and Horatio is startled out of his apparent speechlessness – an expression Rosencrantz has only known on the man’s face since he has become friends with the prince, before that a speechless Horatio was very much unimaginable to him...  
“Alright, we’re ready – shall we?” Rosencrantz says to Hamlet, clasping one of his shoulders. Guildenstern appears behind the other with a grin. “We should hurry. The best seats at the theatre will be taken otherwise!”  
Hamlet seems far from pleased to have been interrupted in this specific moment of his talk with Horatio, but he gives the man before him a look that Rosencrantz observes to be more full of fondness than he would have expected. Horatio, however, is quickly adapting to the situation. “Don’t worry about me, my lord,” he says, “I have to head off anyway. I hope to meet a potential landlady by the river who will hopefully let her attic to me at an affordable price.”  
“Ah, a potential new _landlady,_ we see!” Rosencrantz winks. It is a common enough phrasing for endeavours of another kind and although he takes Horatio not to be a man to mean anything but the concrete thing with such a phrase, there is always the joy to tease Hamlet in the least. And to perhaps learn a thing or two more of Horatio’s interest in any direction... He has not seemed inclined to find closer acquaintance with any woman or man since Guil and Ros have known him and the matter has begun to seem even more interesting to Ros lately as he ponders over the possibility of Horatio’s feelings for Hamlet.... “If you succeed to woo her, Horatio, the place will surely become more affordable than otherwise!”  
Horatio pales slightly and clears his throat, ever uncomfortable with speaking of such things – that is no new thing. “She is a widow at the age of 56 so I don’t believe that will better my chances.”  
Guildenstern raises an eyebrow and joins in. “Oh, you never know...” Ros joins his loud laughter and they share a knowing glance. Hamlet does not seem to share their sentiment – for someone who likes to make Horatio uncomfortable himself, he can be rather protective of the man when others attempt the same.  
“Ros, Guil, why don’t you go ahead?” he says without looking at them now. “I will be with you in a few minutes.”  
They both fall silent in an instant and share a look. The meaning of Hamlet’s words is clear and they comply without drawing the moment out.  
They come to a stop by the edge of the square in the shade of a house, out of earshot of the pair still perched on the bench underneath the chestnut tree. Ros glances back to see Horatio collect his belongings and Hamlet pull him back down to sit by an arm gently when he intends to stand, then he turns back to Guil so they are not both staring. “Didst thou hear what he was saying when we arrived?” he asks conspiratorially.  
“Shush,” Guil shoots back, discreetly watching the other two over Ros’s shoulder.  
“Oh at least tell me what’s happening then,” Ros scoffs.  
“They’re talking, I can’t hear what,” Guil mumbles. “But Horatio looks like he will faint from surprise.”  
“Really? I thought he might merely from Hamlet’s flattering.”  
Guil chuckles. “I bet thee a thaler Hamlet is asking him to move into his chambers.”  
Rosencrantz splutters. “What?? That’s forward even for him!”  
“A thaler,” Guil repeats, a challenging gleam to his eyes. Rosencrantz feels his heart skip a beat at the sight of it, he has fallen in love with that gleam a long time ago and he could never resist it.  
“Fine, a thaler then,” he agrees. “But there is no way he has – and if, I shall believe thee too that Hamlet’s feelings are true and he really is in love.”  
Guil laughs, but then frowns as he looks over his shoulder again. “Looks like Horatio has just turned his offer down.”  
“What, is it dramatic?” Rosencrantz wants to turn around to see, but Guil firmly holds him place to not draw attention to them.  
“God no, the day Horatio causes a scene in public something would have to be very wrong with the world!”  
Ros grins. “Well, I wouldn’t put it past Hamlet to force a public scene upon him.”  
Guil frowns at him. “He likes to tease Horatio, not to upset him,” he glances over Ros’s shoulder again briefly. “Here he comes!”  
Ros turns around as well and casually leans against Guil and they watch patiently as Hamlet approaches them. Horatio, it seems, has already disappeared some other direction.  
The prince joins them with a friendly smile and they make their way down the streets to the theatre in meaningless chatter until for a minute or so some companionable silence falls between them. It is good, to spend some time in easy friendship with Hamlet again.  
“So hast thou then?” Guil eventually breaks the silence and asks in Hamlet’s direction.  
The prince raises an eyebrow. “Have I what, gentle Guildenstern?”  
Guil glances at Ros and grins. “Well hast thou offered Horatio a place in thy chambers? We reckoned you might have...”  
There is a moment of tense silence as Ros gives Guil a scolding look for asking right out and then they both wait curiously for Hamlet’s response. The prince visibly hesitates, then lets out a long sigh.  
“Mayhaps I should not have,” he says – Guildenstern allows himself a small gesture of victorious glee and Ros rolls his eyes at him, but the prince fails to notice both. “He turned me down, so gently too... I merely meant to make a compassionate offer, I did not know how much I wanted him to say yes before he didn’t...”  
Guil sighs sympathetically. “Well, my good lord, it is the epitome of friendship to know when to accept a no – and surely Horatio will know to appreciate that as much as I am certain he did the offer.”  
Hamlet looks up at the sky in doubt. “He said he did. And I am glad enough he felt not obliged at the offer, but sure enough of my affection to turn it down, now that I think of it. I merely fear with every cautious step I take to his true company that I shall overstep some boundary – and yet I wish to shift such boundaries as far away from what they have once been as e’er it shall be possible for me... It is a dangerously thin path.”  
Rosencrantz thinks about the way Horatio had looked at what Hamlet had said to him earlier – and of the many occasions that he has wondered what Horatio may truly think of the prince, of the many reaction he has seem of him to Hamlet. “Perhaps not to thin as one may believe,” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else, but Guil eyes him curiously. Hamlet, thankfully, seems not to have taken note of it yet again.

********************

The prince’s moods, Guildenstern has always thought, are the most notoriously difficult part of Hamlet’s character to deal with – and he does not know a single soul that readily would subject itself to them and master the task as well: not a single soul except, as it turns out, Horatio. Horatio who devotes himself to the prince so intently it is a miracle to Guil that the depth of it slips past Hamlet’s notice. Or perhaps, Guildenstern thinks, Hamlet is too lost in his own emotions to closely observe Horatio’s, too busy trying to refrain from hope that may turn a gentle feeling into something ugly to allow himself the time...  
Rosencrantz has been wondering about the nature of Horatio’s feelings for way longer than Guil has let himself. Some part of him was, upon the discovery of Hamlet’s feelings, vastly afraid that Horatio would break the prince’s heart, not even meaning to, but surely it would have to happen. Rosencrantz has, from the start, been less sure of that. But Guildenstern hesitates. It is hard enough for them as it is to be there – to _truly be there_ and be good friends in good conscience to the prince. He knows not how to stop Hamlet from falling for Horatio and he finds himself wishing Horatio would feel the same and Hamlet may truly for once find some pure sample of happiness and fortune in the world. But quite like Hamlet he hesitates to let himself hope for this. Hamlet and Horatio grow closer, spend more time together and Horatio marvellously turns the prince not down even over the worst of his dark moods and strangest of his habits, but sticks to his side with no hesitance whatsoever – and Guildenstern lets himself be happy enough for Hamlet to have found such a worthy friend, but not hope for more between the two.  
Were he sure of both heart’s feelings, Guildenstern would strive to make each see the other’s – but he is far from sure despite the fondness he can see in both, and he will not subject Hamlet to wrong hopes and in effect to greater pain over the discovery that taking action over love has been in vain. The prince has stumbled once in this regard, or must have for all Guil knows of the story concerning the lady Ophelia, and it has made him hesitant enough to ever attempt to act on love again – should he fail again, Guildenstern fears, the prince’s faith in love may well forever be lost. He is not ready to let that happen, and Rosencrantz understands and seeks to sooth his worries in nights when Guil cannot keep them to himself anymore. Ros tells him that perhaps there is a chance for Hamlet, truly, but Guildenstern will hear none of it – because what if Ros is wrong?

The night Guil learns that he is not comes, as so many things with Hamlet tend to go, unexpectedly.  
They have retired early that night, the hangover of the past days slowing their day to an exhausting haze of writing essay they have been very late for. Their bed is comfortable and warm and Guil cuddles into Rosencrantz’s side , the day’s headache finally lessening... Some time must have passed because Guil has long dozed off and only slowly comes too again when there is an urgent knock on their door. There may have been knocking before that Guil slept through because Ros groans something into the pillow, apparently more awake than Guil is, and when it knocks again Ros sighs and startles Guil fully awake when he throws back the sheets and crawls out of their bed, leaving Guil to drowsily blink after his lover.  
Ros pulls the door open just after another more desperate knock sounds again and squints at the shallow light that comes in from the moonshine outside. Then, Ros freezes in his place, eyes opening wide and he opens the door further to a dishevelled Horatio who stumbles inside, carrying a bleeding Hamlet half over his shoulder. Guil sits up in alarm while Ros closes the door.  
“Why is he bleeding?” Guildenstern asks. _Why aren’t you at the infirmary?_ he wants to add because Hamlet looks rather bad, but that is a stupid question, of course. Hamlet doesn’t go to the infirmary, his parents aren’t supposed to hear of his more (self-)destructive ventures – Horatio would know that.  
“Because he’s an idiot,” Horatio grits out angrily between his teeth as he carefully lowers the prince down onto the chaise longue at the other side of the room.  
“I didn’t know that idiocy caused people to spontaneously start bleeding,” Ros mutters, but he immediately kneels down next to Hamlet and starts examining his bruises. Rosencrantz has been taking some spare classes in medical care and Guil knows from firsthand experience that he has very calm hands – a quality that can now hopefully help the prince. Horatio, it seems, has had that same thought.  
“I think it’s a new phenomenon,” he growls. “Can you help him?”  
“I should think so,” Ros expertly responds after a moment’s consideration of Hamlet’s state. “If you could stoke the fire, we need to boil some water. Guil, we need bandages.”  
Horatio turns to the fire and Guil quickly slips out from under the sheets and into their washing room to gather whatever usable cloths he can find. He can faintly hear the voices of the others from the next room.  
Rosencrantz mumbles something and then there is a pained laugh from Hamlet – so he has regained full consciousness. Guil isn’t sure whether to be relieved about that or not. The prince must be in pain.  
Hamlet mumbles something about “defend” and “Horatio” and Horatio’s immediate response is so loud and clear and full of anger and frustration that it easily carries through the ajar door to Guildenstern’s ears. “I can take care of myself!”  
Guildenstern freezes for a moment at it and listens carefully as Hamlet laughs again, but his laughter turns into shallow coughing. “Can’t risk that pretty face of yours,” Hamlet forces out between coughs and Guildenstern flinches at the sound of it, but more so at Horatio’s response.  
“Dost thou respect me so little, my lord? To think of me but as a pretty face by thy side?”  
Hamlet, from what it sounds like, is genuinely taken aback by this. Guil cannot blame him considering the coldness of Horatio’s question. “Not at all Horatio. How canst thou think that?” The term of endearment shakes something loose in Guildenstern and he blinks a few times, shakes his head and continues to gather bandages. He does not hear Horatio’s answer clearly, but when he hurries back into the room a tense silence has fallen and Rosencrantz appears to be very relieved not to be left alone between the two others anymore. Him Guil cannot blame either.

Ros tends to Hamlet’s injuries with thoroughness and great care and Guildenstern assists him as well as he can. Most of his assisting consists of trying to calm down the anxious Horatio eventually whose pacing irritates Rosencrantz in his work. Guil sits Horatio down in an empty chair next to the bed and makes him a cup of tea. Horatio seems shook, but also angry, but also pale with worry and his hands are shaking slightly and they are bruised on the knuckles and covered in some remains of blood that Guildenstern doesn’t think is his. He also thinks Horatio isn’t even aware of it.  
Guil sits down next to him softly when Hamlet has fallen asleep and Ros is about done caring for his injuries, now washing remainders of blood off his face to check for wounds he may not have seen.  
“Are you alright?” he asks softly. Horatio glances at him in something like exhausted surprise – fair enough, Guildenstern isn’t usually the sympathetic, compassionate type. Well, not with Horatio anyway.  
“I’m good,” he lies. His gaze is drawn back to the peaceful figure of Hamlet and Guildenstern wonders what exactly happened. He can imagine, of course. Hamlet gets into pub brawls all the time and he lets himself get hurt all the time as well. He has seen his fair share of it as well. It seems to have gotten better since Horatio has been joining him for his trips down to the pubs. His destructiveness seems to have gotten less. Hamlet wants to be hurt sometimes, at other times he feels the need to hurt others because he dares not hurt himself. Starting a fight is a convenient outlet. Guildenstern has been in bad places before, he knows the easy distraction of aggression. It is worse, nastier, with Hamlet, than Guil has ever experienced it. But Horatio has been dragging Hamlet away from it – not well enough, it seems, to keep him from all harm. But now there is someone for Hamlet to care for, someone other than himself, perhaps...  
“It was good of you to bring him here,” Guildenstern carefully says in an attempt at comfort, but Horatio merely scoffs.  
“I fear I didn’t know what else to do. I know not if there is any helping his moods, I have been doing my best to keep him from harm’s way, but it seems that I am powerless in this regard.”  
Guildenstern gives him an incredulous look. Does Horatio truly not see the influence he has on Hamlet? Has been having from the start? Perhaps it is difficult for him to see because Hamlet has been blossoming, opening up to something impossibly more than he had ever allowed himself to be ever since befriending Horatio, but... There is something about that – about this blindness Horatio shows to Hamlet’s feelings, the same blindness Hamlet seems to show to Horatio’s devotion. Guil has a feeling that they would both be off better with a greater awareness of it.  
“Are you serious?” he therefore asks. “Horatio, you are literally the only person in the entire world with even the smallest bit of power over his moods! And it isn’t all that small a bit either.”  
Horatio gives him a downcast look – confused, hurt, doubtful – and he shrugs. “What good is a little bit of power if it isn’t enough to stop him from putting himself in danger?”  
Guildenstern marvels at that. So he really does not understand. Well, it was time someone made him aware. “You have quite successfully been limiting the amount of brawling he gets involved in, nobody has done that before. This was a fight he picked for you and not for himself?” It is what he has interpreted from Horatio’s bruised knuckles and their earlier exchange... Horatio’s reaction tells him he is right.  
“He would have. I was just trying to stop it before it got too worse. He gets himself in the way of violence with no care for anything or anyone.”  
“Not so much anymore,” Guil protests lightly. “I would actually say that you are in a way the manifestation of his self-preservation instinct.”  
Horatio looks up at him, really _looks_ at him for the first time and Guildenstern smiles at him and - _oh..._ It is at this moment that Guil sees all the conflicting feelings in Horatio’s eyes. The turmoil of emotion, his angers with Hamlet, his impossible patience, his frustration, his fear and exhaustion, his devotion and pained care – and now, at Guil’s words, somewhere beneath that, a note of strikingly familiar hope. Hesitant and carefully held back, but fierce and helplessly committed nonetheless, carrying some other thing with it that all this is desperately circling about... And Guildenstern _understands._  
In that moment, Rosencrantz gets up from next to Hamlet and approaches them. “He should be fine, I think. It’s probably a good sign he’s fallen asleep. Do you need any help, Horatio?”  
Guildenstern is as startled out of the moment as Horatio is and Horatio blinks and looks like he is about to say no, but Guildenstern beats him to it. “Yeah, I would have that looked at,” he says, gesturing at Horatio’s hands and the man looks down at them in surprise. “Your knuckles are all bruised.”  
Guil shares a quick glance with Ros. Horatio had evidently not been aware of the state of his hands. Ros sighs and sits down by Horatio’s side, taking Horatio’s hands and examining them when the other offers them to him. “Evidently you really can take of yourself,” he mutters and nobody says anything in turn.

They have to assure Horatio that they will look after Hamlet and take excellent care of him at least a dozen times before Horatio agrees to leave and as he stands in the door, hesitantly staring back at Hamlet with so much worry and care and fondness in his eyes that Guildenstern thinks his heart will break and he will offer Horatio a place to sleep on the floor, Hamlet who has by now woken up calls from his place on the chaise lounge, “You know, if you lived with me, you wouldn’t have to ask someone else to look after me in such a situation and lie awake worrying all night that something may happen to me without your knowledge!”  
Rosencrantz raises a very pointed eyebrow at that and Horatio just mumbles something about a concussion and Hamlet being drunk. Guildenstern reassures him a few more times that they will take good care of Hamlet and Horatio leaves finally.  
Hamlet stares after him for a long moment and then drops back on the chaise longue, staring up at the ceiling with an empty gaze. Guil exchanges a worried look with Ros again. Ros sighs and shrugs.

They put Hamlet to sleep and when his breathing is even and he seems to rest comfortably, Ros finally joins Guil under the covers again.  
“He is surely asleep?” Guil whispers.  
“Safe and sound,” Ros assures him and pulls Guil towards him to exhaustedly snuggle into his side.  
“So what exactly happened?” Guil asks quietly. Ros has exchanged some words with Hamlet while Guil was busy calming Horatio down and later before Hamlet would fall asleep. Guil is by now dying to know how this scene came about. Ros sighs tiredly.  
“So apparently Hamlet was picking a fight and Horatio has made a habit of stepping in, reasonably calming Hamlet’s opponents down, dropping a name and a title and the like – and apparently it works often enough. But tonight the guy Hamlet was riling up took a turn and went for Horatio when he tried to calm him down. So then Hamlet stepped in, but he was inferior and it got really bad and so Horatio stepped in _yet again,_ beat up the guy and dragged Hamlet out of it – but apparently he was a little too late to stop Hamlet from taking harm.”  
Guil stares. “Horatio _beat up a guy!?_ In a pub!? _Our_ Horatio???”  
“I think he’s Hamlet’s Horatio, really,” Ros mumbles. “But I was surprised myself. Seems they’re both the protective type to the point where they try to throw themselves in front of the other so much that it ends in tears for everyone.”  
Guil shakes his head in disbelief. He is feeling incredibly tired with the gravity of all this suddenly. “Hast thou seen the way they looked at each other? It’s a Greek tragedy if e’er I’ve seen one...”  
“I have,” Ros sighs. “Can we speak of this tomorrow though? I fear I am too tired to bear it in this moment.”  
Guil agrees and pulls the covers over them. “We should do something though,” he still think aloud and Ros nods against his shoulder and then they curl into each other and fall asleep.

********************

Hamlet gets through the night well and he is back to his usual self the next morning. Ros and Guil corner him over breakfast.  
“This,” Guildenstern says and sits down in the chair opposite Hamlet, “is an intervention.” Ros sits down next to him and they both intently look at Hamlet.  
The prince halts in his movements, spoon halfway to his mouth, and blinks. “Of what kind?” he eventually asks.  
“Oh the ‘well-meaning-friends-who-worry-about-you’-kind,” Ros says.  
Hamlet seems to consider that for a moment, still unmoving. “On what matter then?”  
“On the matter of you and Horatio,” Guil does not look away when Hamlet returns his stare. “Thou art in love?”  
This gives Hamlet pause. He swallows, glances away for a brief second. When he looks back between him and Ros, he finally puts his spoon down and sighs. “I am.”  
Guil has to refrain from sharing a glance with Ros – no use getting excited over that victory now or Hamlet will turn the talk around within seconds. Instead, he nods deliberately.  
“You need to stop brawling then,” Rosencrantz declares and Guil continues to nod in agreement.  
Hamlet seems confused. Good. “What?”  
“You care for Horatio, we take it,” Ros slowly says. “Now thou hast expressed before that there is no expectation to your love and that is all fair, Hamlet, but thou dost want him by thy side – as a friend, cherished such way when there is no other. So we also take it that you do not mean to hurt him.”  
Hamlet is aghast. “No, never. But what—“  
“And what, pray tell,” Rosencrantz interrupts him – Guildenstern is quite impressed. Ros does not usually stay this calm when he disagrees with the prince and tries to reason with him. “—do you think you did yesternight if not hurt him, my lord?”  
Hamlet stares back at him for a long moment, a crease between his brows slowly deepening. “I had no intention to... I meant not... Why—“  
“Good lord,” Guildenstern steps in gently now. “Horatio cares for you – more than you would consider yourself deserving of, according to your words. But you are aware that he does care greatly. Therefore you should not carry that unworthiness you see in yourself in your actions.”  
Hamlet frowns, not understanding.  
“His friendship maketh thee happy and we are happier for it,” Rosencrantz continues. “What we mean is that thou shalt not let it happen so that thou art protective of him as he would go to any lengths to protect thee in a fit of mutual care – to the point where you both will hurt each other by it, instead of refraining from such situations all together and voicing thy affections with care.”  
Something passes over Hamlet’s face – Guildenstern is not sure what, but it isn’t a bad thing. Hamlet in a bad mood is a picture so familiar that he could tell it from any other in the darkest night.  
“Hamlet,” he very softly adds to it all. “We know thou art... conflicted in many a toil over your mind and heart and it comes down to nights like the last at times in darker periods... Just think, dear friend, how now there is another soul for you to care about, some other than yourself, burdened by any thy decision to turn to violence for comfort – a soul to which this very decision is violence of its own kind. Dost thou want this?”  
Hamlet falls silent for a long time after that and Ros and Guil give him time, giving a fond smile at every glance. Hamlet shakes his head then and thanks them quietly and Guil feels a great softness over it all that threatens to overwhelm him. Eventually, lightness comes upon them again though and they have their breakfast over their usual companionable chatter and good-natured jokes.

It is only later that day when Hamlet has left and the most urgent university work is taken care of that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern get to have their talk. They sit down over tea at the same table they have been sitting at over breakfast with Hamlet and say nothing for a while.  
“So Horatio is in love with Hamlet,” Guildenstern says, eventually.  
“As Hamlet is in love with Horatio,” Rosencrantz agrees.  
Another moment of silence passes.  
“We can’t tell them,” Rosencrantz says.  
“No, not our place,” Guil agrees.  
“Wouldn’t work out at all.”  
“It’s complicated enough as it is.”  
“They probably wouldn’t believe us either.”  
“It would scare both of them off probably.”  
“They need to realise themselves.”  
“Yeah...” Guil sighs. “But they’re oblivious and they will never tell each other.”  
Ros sighs in agreement and frustration. But then, he perks up the way he does when he has an idea. “Perhaps... I think there is a way.”  
Guil raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”  
Ros grins. “Hamlet really wants Horatio to move in with him.”  
Guil blinks, then he thinks of how hesitant Horatio was to leave Hamlet in their care the other night and understanding dawns. “...And Horatio really wants to live with Hamlet, but he dares not. Oh, Ros, thou art brilliant! Do I ever tell thee that?”  
“Not nearly enough,” Ros laughs. “Now, how difficult may it be to convince people of not letting their rooms to Horatio at affordable prices?”  
Guil grins. “To whom? The brute who beat up a guy in a pub? Far from impossible, I’d say...”  
Ros laughs. “Well we better pray that it will work and they don’t run around each other blindly still even shoved into one room!”  
“Heaven will direct it,” Guildenstern dares to hope out loud. “Horatio is a sensible man. And not even Hamlet can seal himself off from hope forevermore. One day one is doomed to see the way the other looks at him if only there is occasion enough.”  
“How will we fit all that work into our schedule to plan the Easter feast?” Ros says with a sigh, but he sounds excited really and Guil gives him a bright smile to match his.  
“Oh, we will figure something out. We always do.” He takes Rosencrantz’s hand into his and intertwines their fingers. “Some unflinching love can help matters further than the matters know. And I, unflinchingly, my dearest Rosencrantz, love thee.”  
Rosencrantz laughs and pulls Guil to him by their joined hands, half across the table half around it, and into a kiss. “I love thee too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest with you guys, I'm having a series of horrible days - nothing serious, but it sucks - but writing keeps me going and as long as sharing this with you gives you guys some joy, I'll be glad for it. So please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear your opinion. Also, I promise to return to Hamlet's POV in the next chapter and there will definitely finally be loads of sexual tension in the next one too - so that's something to look forward to.  
> Thanks for reading! And as always, a pun for your effort.
> 
> Why was the baby ant confused?  
> Because all his uncles were ants!
> 
> Yours faithfully,  
> the devil's first angel


	3. Trautes Heim, Glück allein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Horatio moves in with Hamlet and both domesticity and tension ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, fellow people!  
> Ah.... I'm sorry I've been gone for so long. Gosh, how did I think writing this from Hamlet's perspective would somehow be easy and wouldn't take me long? Silly me! Well, I'm massively gratefull for all your patience and understanding - and thank you VERY MUCH for all the kind comments you have left. Every single one has given me the energy to return to this story, and hey - I told you I would write more sometime. The time has finally come.
> 
> Writing this, I wasn't really happy with it. But when I proof-read it, I actually liked it a lot. I feel like, again, Hamlet is emotionally one chapter ahead of Horatio. I also feel like I didn't quite nail the sexual tension in this one, but let me know what you think about that.  
> Well, there is at the very least a lot of domesticitiy, lots of feelings and some angst as well.
> 
> I hope you guys like it. So without further keeping you from it - here's chapter 3! Enjoy.

Horatio isn’t a fighter. Hamlet is fairly aware of that. If there is anyone who is a scholar through and through down to every part of their being, that someone is Horatio. The definition of a scholar from all his heart fits him perfectly and he wears it with ease and comfort. No, Horatio isn’t a fighter. Far from it.

This knowledge makes Hamlet afraid sometimes. He’s known people who have gone through life ready to defend themselves and people going through life who use brutality and violence to clear their ways of anyone they might need to defend themselves from. Horatio is... not like that. And ordinarily, Hamlet has seen the suffering of people who aren’t fighters under those who are. It is that knowledge that scares him and makes him fear that he may have forced himself upon Horatio. Thinking of their early encounters and the way Horatio had avoided him back then... It sparks some doubt in him the first time he offers for Horatio to move in with him and Horatio turns him down and that is all well. It just comes to him, in this moment, that he has never considered that perhaps he has been forcing himself upon Horatio.

And yet, he knows that he has not. That he cannot have.

He knows it from the way Horatio scolds him for tipping his chair. From the way Horatio snatches his papers from him whenever Hamlet begins to draw on them. From the way Horatio corrects him in debate just as he would correct anyone else in class.

And he truly knows it when Horatio raises his fists for their more practical meaning and knocks out a German brute in short order.

It is then that Hamlet realises that he could not possible have forced himself upon Horatio, even if he had wanted to, and that Horatio has all by himself decided to love him as fiercely as some in Hamlet’s life who should have loved him never could. Although _love…_ That is a dangerous term.

For as much as Hamlet has allowed it to describe and further shape what he feels…

Over the past weeks their friendship has grown steadfast. And just as much, Hamlet’s longing for Horatio has grown. He knows that he has not forced himself upon Horatio and in that knowledge blossoms his desire, knowing that he would never force that upon the man either, but for some reason remaining mercilessly hopeful…

It is with that in mind that he knows, when Horatio moves in, that it is because Horatio wants to – because he could never force himself upon the man. It is with that same knowledge in mind that he wishes Horatio might force himself upon… well, him – and in far from innocent ways. And perhaps he should have realised that living with Horatio would, while being paradise in many ways, also be the sweetest torture…

Not that he would change it for the world.

The day that Horatio moves in is up until then probably the best day in Hamlet’s life. Of course, he has seen it coming. He had contemplated, before, making sure that Horatio would have no other option than to move in with him and to ask people subtly not to let their rooms to him. He refrained from it, eventually, out of respect for his friend. He suspects, however, that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern have had no such reservations as they have been tirelessly dropping hints to him lately.

So it does not come as a surprise when Horatio knocks on his door late one solemn evening. It doesn’t occur to Hamlet for a single moment to be disappointed or hurt that Horatio would only choose to stay with him as a last resort and even now mutter under his breath that it would only be temporary – because Hamlet knows deep down what Horatio perhaps does not realise yet, that Horatio is here because he wants to be here. And because Hamlet knows that, has known that for a while, he has also known for a few weeks that it would come to this eventually.

Everything is prepared and Horatio is moved in easily. Hamlet takes note of how Horatio refrains from commenting on the state Hamlet’s rooms are in. He tends to leave chaos where he goes and his rooms are no exception. Most of his life he has had a household full of people cleaning up after him and it has been somewhat relieving in the beginning in Wittenberg, to have nobody clean up the messes he leaves in order to get the chaos inside his head to the outside. The constant cleaning up after him had left him feeling like he was suffocating in his childhood. Wittenberg had felt like freedom. By now, however… it has gotten somewhat out of hand where it comes to Hamlet’s rooms.

He sheepishly apologises to Horatio and makes some comment about the outrageous amounts of things that have been brought with him from Elsinore as he shows Horatio to the prepared manservant’s rooms only a door from his. Even here the floor is covered in his belongings and he hastily offers to have them moved to his room as it belatedly occurs to him that this is not his second room anymore now, but Horatio’s room instead… Hamlet has never shared housing so closely with anyone in his life. He should have thought more on that before having Horatio over.

But Horatio only smiles back softly and reassures him. “It’s fine for now. They make the place seem less empty. I fear I will not really be able to fill it out.” And on an afterthought he quickly adds, “Not that I will be staying for too long so why bother anyway.”

Hamlet smiles bemusedly at that. Horatio is so intent on telling himself that he does not want to stay here that he probably hasn’t even noticed how his posture has changed and he has visibly relaxed the moment he entered Hamlet’s chambers. It hasn’t escaped Hamlet’s notice. Nothing about Horatio escapes Hamlet’s notice anymore.

He goes over to explaining the shared facilities. “Well, I’m afraid the servant’s washing room has been neglected over time and isn’t exactly ready for use, but my washing room should be sufficiently equipped for us to share and it is more commodious anyway.”

Hamlet may or may not have some ulterior motive in making Horatio use the same washing room that he uses. He likes keeping Horatio as close as he can accomplish, yes. But mainly he is slightly anxious that if the costs for tending to a second washing room appear on the accounts to his parents by the end of the term someone in Elsinore will start asking questions why he wouldn’t let a manservant accompany him, but make us of the second washing room.

Horatio, luckily, does not seem to mind upon examining Hamlet’s washing room. All things considered Horatio has probably never even seen such luxurious rooms from the inside in his life. Class difference is a strange thing to Hamlet, he knows not why any man should be different from another truly. It is even stranger to live through such moments when he understands that it is no less real a thing in Wittenberg than it is back home. In a removed way it makes him even happier to have Horatio around. It adds something real to his life and home here, something that isn’t fabricated from the title he wears and the life he lives back home. Something that has actual meaning to him, more meaning somehow than all the rest of his life has held to this point.

The rest of the evening goes as it usually does between them. They drink and debate and recite and Hamlet adds as much drama to it as it takes to make Horatio lose his breath laughing.

Yet something is different from how their shared evenings usually go. Because they are in Hamlet’s chambers and somehow that makes it so much more intimate. And also when the sun has long set and midnight has long passed and Horatio’s laughter has become drawn out and his movements tired and he moves, as he usually would, to leave… He doesn’t. Of course not. Because he does not need to leave now, his room is just a door from Hamlet’s and it then really hits Hamlet that it’s _their_ chambers now.  
No revelation has ever been more sweet.

He pauses at the door between their rooms for a long moment as Horatio retires. Horatio is here, he is real, he is happily tired and to Hamlet he has never been more beautiful than in this moment because he is _with Hamlet._ As much as he’s ever been. Hamlet cannot help his staring and he thinks, distantly, that his gaze must carry all the impossibly vigorous love he holds in his heart. But Horatio looks back at him with something in his eyes… something too much.

And Hamlet has to force a sheepish smile and close the door between them softly because else he will stand overwhelmed and will never recover from the moment.

Hamlet drops back onto his bed, thoughts running wild in his head. And yet… he has not felt so at peace in months. Something that was misplaced inside him has been set right, it seems. His mind may be spinning at full speed, but it is spinning around and about one thing and one thing only: _Horatio._

He thinks for a long moment on the matter of love before falling asleep. He has allowed himself to fall in love with Horatio. Not that he could have stopped himself, really, but he has not put up a fight. Instead, he has found his newfound capacity for love, for such joy, such affection, a positive thing. He has been holding on to it, has been tending to it, letting it grow. He still does not think it wrong to let his feelings be. Just… things are different now, are they not?

Allowing oneself to love means allowing oneself to be hurt. Horatio, Hamlet knows, would never hurt him. As much as Hamlet would never force himself upon Horatio. Some things cannot be controlled though. Hamlet has not believed that his feelings for Horatio would have to come to stand between them eventually. He still does not think that. As far as he is concerned, he will be happy to have as much of Horatio as he can and would not risk having any less. It is a careful balance, asking for more where he can, cautious not to ask for too much. But they have settled into this balance.

It's just that with every bit more that Hamlet gets, he finds himself longing for more even.

Perhaps it is a dangerous thing to have Horatio so close. And yet… Hamlet could not stop himself if he knew how to. Horatio could. But he seems no more willing to than Hamlet is. So mayhaps that is enough proof that it cannot be wrong. Horatio would never take unnecessary risks, nor would he let Hamlet do just that. He may not consciously be aware of Hamlet’s feelings, but Horatio is aware of way more at any time than he knows, clearly. So if Horatio has moved in, if Horatio finds himself willing to stay in the future…

Hamlet is not sure. But he trusts Horatio. Even if Horatio does not know himself what Hamlet thinks he understands better than Hamlet himself does. If anything, falling in love with Horatio is the best thing that has happened to him all his life. _Horatio_ is the best thing. And letting him move in is not something Hamlet has done out of ulterior motives entirely. He will not hesitate to bestow as much of his love upon Horatio as Horatio is willing to take, willing to return, no more, no less.

It is with that peaceful thought that Hamlet finally falls asleep. Nothing will change between them. They are still Hamlet and Horatio and their dynamics have worked out well so far. Hamlet will not let his doubts or his desires come in the way of that, he is sure.

Something does change. Slowly, yes, but nevertheless. Horatio’s moving in makes things both infinitely better and infinitely worse. And to Hamlet’s surprise, the effect of it radiates as much off Horatio as it does off him. It makes sense, of course, in retrospect – but retrospect is always different. First, it all starts out quite innocently.

The morning after Horatio’s moved in Hamlet is woken up early by a knock on his door. There’s mail. And among the usual lies a letter from Ophelia.

His heart rejoices at that. He had written to Ophelia after the incident in the greenhouse and then again after he had recovered from the brawl in the pub that Horatio had gotten involved in…

Mail to Denmark and back takes a long while and Hamlet knows that Ophelia takes care and time to draft up her correspondence. He has been desperate for her answer though. In the two letters he has sent he has poured out his entire heart to her. Talking to Rosencrantz and Guildemstern of his feelings wasn’t an option and he needed dearly to speak to someone of his feelings to Horatio. Contact between Ophelia and him has been shallow over the past year and his parents would be so delighted to see him write to her again that they wouldn’t even bother checking his letters.

It is with shaking hands that he tears open Ophelia’s letter now, having thrown himself back onto his bed, sheets pulled half back around him, carelessly setting aside the rest of the mail. None of the rest will be more important than _this._

He is quick to scan over the first few sentences.

_Dearest Hamlet,_

_I must admit I was surprised to read thy name scribbled upon the envelop among so many others as I had not anticipated to hear from you so suddenly again – and with what vigour I hear from thee furthermore! It was evident to me from the moment I picked up thy correspondence that some thing or other must have terribly unsettled thee or brought thee, impossibly, peace so that you would sit to write so many lines of prose. Think how surprised I was that indeed some thing or other – or rather, some one – hath accomplished not just one, but both these._

Hamlet laughs lightly at this. Ophelia has always understood him in ways nobody else has. Well… nobody other than Horatio who seems to understand him even more deeply…

Hamlet reads through the next few paragraphs. Ophelia is delighted at the news and she seems to have taken quite a liking to Horatio without even having met him. Although, as she herself points out…

_…one could probably not be able to refrain from taking a like to this young man upon thy description of him. And I would, of course, be rightfully called foolish to trust thy account of him alone as any man or woman might rightfully be called foolish who listens to and believes with ease a madman – which now thou must as rightfully be called for it is well known that any man as besotted as thou art must be mad with love._

_Now, I know thee as well as any can hope to claim, fortunately, I must say. For this way I can be certain to say that I know best to discern the truth behind thy words may they be uttered to me, another, or written in word. I therefore deduce from all that thou hast written that I would surely like thy man Horatio no less were I to meet him than I do from thy account of him alone._

_‘Thy man,’ I say and not light-heartedly, dear friend. As certain as thy first letter made me of thy feelings for him which thou then couldst not quite put into words towards me yet, I am since receiving thy second letter no less convinced that Horatio fosters feelings for thee as gentle as thou dost for him._

_I already hear thy doubtful objections and I know nothing for certain of course. Thou art closer to the source than I can hope to be, but thy gaze is way more clouded than mine, prince. Remember that and move it in thy heart. Thy thoughts are ever clouded by terrible doubts in thyself and thy surroundings – so much so that I was surprised, pleasantly, but heavily, that thou hast found a soul thy heart would open up to._

_Thou hast invited him to share thy chambers? Forward, Hamlet! Yorick would have scolded thee for being so forward, bless his heart. I will advise thee in his stead to tread more carefully. I doubt not that Horatio holds thee in his heart of hearts as thou dost him, but he seems to me from thy descriptions to be a greatly cautious man, and rightly so. Life has not been as easy on him as it may have been on us – and God knows it has not been so on us, despite the wealth and standing we were each born to._

_It seems to me that Horatio may be won by more subtle turns. As much as thy forwardness seems to successfully coax from him the reactions he would otherwise keep to himself, I will yet ask you to be cautious of his feelings. They may be as rich and complex as thine and he will not hold them so closely to his chest for no reason. Think thou at times of how thou wouldst not so unruly have wanted them coaxed out of you! Horatio’s heart may be won, mayhaps even blatantly, but not roughly. Remember thou to…_

Ophelia seems entirely lost to the prospect of Horatio returning Hamlet’s feelings which Hamlet finds as kind of her as outrageous. Yet, the more often he reads through the neatly written lines of her explanations of why she came to believe this, the more he wonders… He has made it a principle never to underestimate Ophelia’s wisdom. This is tricky though. Allowing himself to hope too much may pose an entirely new challenges now that Horatio and he share a living space.

Ophelia’s words seem sensible, her opinion well-informed, her point resolute… Hamlet worries his bottom lip between his teeth and runs a hand through his hair. He had begun, over the last night, to fear that his feelings might turn out to be a problem after all. Ophelia, he understands now, would urge him to understand them more as a chance.

 _Horatio’s heart may be won, mayhaps even blatantly, but not roughly._ Hamlet turns this sentence over in his head. There is a certain appeal to it… It is something that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern have uttered to him, less openly, naturally, but insistently, nonetheless. Of course, Hamlet would not have taken their words for it. Ophelia’s however…

If there is a real chance to win Horatio’s heart, it seems to Hamlet that he is now at the best of his chances to do just that. To tread carefully… Ophelia would be right to advise him so. Although where it seems to be her concern that he might scare Horatio away, it is Hamlet’s greater concern that he might allow himself to get too carried away by his feelings – to a point where it may make him more unhappy than anything else.

Truth be told, if Hamlet were certain that his feelings could be returned, that there was a chance to win Horatio’s heart like this, he would not hesitate. Horatio’s inhibitions are the only thing that will ever stop him from finding a way, he is certain of that. Over the past months Horatio has willingly grown closer to him and Hamlet has willingly led the way to their proximity. He would never take a step further without thinking that Horatio would willingly take it with him.

Perhaps it was forward to invite Horatio to share his chambers. But he only offered, Horatio is the one who has taken the step. And this is the reassurance in which Hamlet can love Horatio so freely – that Horatio step by step allows himself to take Hamlet’s gentle teasing as the invitation it always is. He believes not that Horatio could share his feelings as deeply as Ophelia believes… dares not believe it.

Yet, what better position will he ever be in to figure out whether there may or may not be a chance? To keep an eye on their dynamics, it seems, should not be the hardest thing, especially considering that Hamlet is enamoured with and entranced by nothing more than Horatio anyway. He just needs to make sure he will keep his own hopes and wants in check – something he has been doing since falling so helplessly for Horatio right in the beginning. So proceeding to do so now will not pose a great challenge, he thinks.

There is some soft knocking on wood and Hamlet, still immersed in the letter he is holding, out of instinct more than thought utters softly back his affirmations unthinkingly. Just then the door to the secondary rooms – no, to _Horatio’s rooms_ \- opens and through it steps none other than Horatio himself.

And all good intentions about keeping his feelings in check are momentarily forgotten. At the sight of Horatio, all composed as usual, but also infinitely less so, his hair still tangled from sleep, his posture impossibly relaxed, his composure lazy and his eyes still hooded from long sleep…

It feels so absolute, so ultimate, so complete – seeing Horatio like this, so utterly comfortable, so utterly at home. And something in Hamlet shatters. But it isn’t the way it usually feels when something inside Hamlet breaks. No, instead it’s the most beautiful of things. It is the most liberating and yet the most comforting of notions. And while Hamlet cannot yet process what is happening to him in this moment, he cannot and has no will to stop the smile that spreads across his face. It is, perhaps, the realest smile he has ever smiled.

“Horatio,” he breathes, and it doesn’t escape his ears that his voice is thick with all the emotions currently cursing through his very being, “how wonderful.”

It cannot possibly escape Horatio’s ears either, but the man remains quiet, almost as if he is stuck in his place. Their eyes meet and for a moment everything comes to a halt – the way Hamlet remembers it from the greenhouse and from so many occasions he has been with Horatio since.

But this is different. It feels heavier somehow. More impactful. And it seems to Hamlet as if they are both holding their breath in this very moment. Whether they are waiting for something to happen or whether they dare not break this scene, he knows not. But does it matter?

The moment doesn’t last, eventually. How could it? Horatio visibly shakes himself out of it, clears his throat a little uncomfortably and looks away. For a moment Hamlet is scared – scared that perhaps this is the sign he was looking for, the sign that all this is too fast, that he is going too far in his cautious advances of closer companionship and that Horatio will draw the line here—But then Horatio _smiles._

It is the smallest and the softest thing and Hamlet cannot fully see it because Horatio isn’t looking at him, but _God_ does he wish Horatio would _look_ at him because he has this inkling that in Horatio’s smile he sees all that he’s feeling reflected back at himself…

But he can’t be sure. Horatio mutters a good morning and then proceeds to the washing room and Hamlet watched him go, smiling still.

The tension dissipates from the room when the door to the washing room closes, but not from Hamlet. He carefully sets down Ophelia’s letter for a moment and takes a deep, steadying breath. There is a whole new, very distinctive attractiveness to Horatio in his room, in the morning, Hamlet covered barely by his sheets, Horatio still somewhat sleepy, not yet entirely with his guards up, his eyes drawn to Hamlet’s hair, Hamlet’s hips, Hamlet’s lips…

Hamlet blinks rapidly a few times. It does not suit him to have such thoughts so openly about a man who is but a door away from him and probably would not appreciate them very much. This poses a whole new threat, and yet… There is also a sweetness to it unlike any other.

Hamlet dwells on his thoughts, just for a moment, just for bit… Before shaking them off.

He will have to become a lot better at containing such thoughts, he realises, when Horatio emerges from the washing room all softness and composure and order and handsomeness… There is something exquisite to it all – especially to the way Horatio throws another glance in his direction. And Hamlet isn’t sure, he cannot be, and he refuses to let Ophelia’s words spur him on too much, but he will allow himself to play with this… just a little. After all, playing with a superficial boundary or two has worked marvellously well so far as long as he’s stayed careful. And who is he trying to fool? He will not succeed to keep his mind, heart, soul or even body from circling back to and around Horatio.

_I beg thee, nevertheless, to write more. I know thou hast waited long for my response to thy worries and I would have thy pardon as we both know well of the exhaustions of life at court. Laertes is prying all the time. I imagine thy situation must be no less stifling with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, yet at least we know them two to be good people. I believe my brother to be the same most of the time and yet at other times…_

_I prithee, write more, and of Horatio if thy heart and mind allow it! I would love to have a better picture of him in my mind as I hate to speculate without reference. I would hear more from thy heart and hope that happiness will come thy way more as it has now finally._

_Send my regards to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern upon occasion and forget me not._

_Thy confident always  
Ophelia_

That same afternoon Hamlet carefully stores Ophelia’s letter away amongst the few things in his possession that have meaning to him. And he begins to draft up his answer. When he inevitably runs out of words, however, to transcribe the indescribable spheres of his heart and soul, he does something that he hasn’t done in ages and that he thought not he could still do.

He draws.

He has not drawn since childhood. It is something that Ophelia and he used to do together – before both their lives took a turn for the worse and they became two unhappy souls caught in lives not meant for them… They have always had each other, through all of it, at least that. It was comforting, the one thing to hold onto, so much at a point that they both thought perhaps this was love.

It goes to show how little they had known of love in their lives, Hamlet thinks today. And yet… There was a point in their shared lives when mayhaps they had known some idea of it – of love. Way back… They used to draw together then. And it used to make them happy.

A lot of that happiness isn’t only just in their past now, but irreparably destroyed too. But as Hamlet thinks of Ophelia’s letter and of how she has noted that some happiness seems to finally have come his way again… He thinks that she may be right. Because if not anything else – doesn’t being with Horatio make him happy? Happy where he thought he could not ever again be any such thing truly.

He understands this as he sits and draws. And he begins to understand what has broken in him earlier. There is some restraint. Some hesitance in him, to happiness. He does not trust it, does not know how to treat or to face it – and it is the same with love.

He had closed himself off, he had thought himself lost, he had given up oh so long ago. Ophelia used to get mad at him over it and he would never understand it. But loving Horatio… Being happy around Horatio – it all comes so naturally to him that for the first time in forever he feels that there is a part of him free from all that chains him. That such a part of him can be. That perchance he can be that version of himself somehow.

Horatio has opened that door for him. Horatio has broken his barriers. Horatio has cut him loose from the heavy chaos of his mind. Horatio has grounded him. Horatio has given him focus, balance, space and care all at once.

He draws and draws and draws _Horatio_ over and over and the more he does, the more he feels free and the happier he is and when Horatio settles opposite him in his room to study in companionable silence and smiles at him warmly before burying his nose in a book, Hamlet thinks that whatever may come of this he is the happiest prince in all the world in this moment.

*******************

They settle in some sort of rhythm – as they always do and as they have done every step their relationship has taken so far. They are comfortable and naturally move even closer bit by bit. And if there’s a little more physical contact in the confines of their chambers and if there is a bit more staring and inappropriate daydreaming from Hamlet’s part… Well who can blame him when he has Horatio around him at all times so utterly beautifully _accessible_ in that way of his.

The drawing keeps his more straining thoughts in check most of the time. Whenever he finds himself staring at Horatio a little too longingly, his thoughts drifting where they shouldn’t, he snatches paper and pencils and puts the delicious complexion of Horatio’s face, hands and body into detailed drawings. It helps.

He makes sure Horatio notices neither the drawing nor the staring.

It satisfies the itching in his fingers first. And it is the better for it because it is an itching to _touch,_ very concretely. There is an even more troubling itching there - _to be touched._ But there is not much to be done about that. Which is precisely the reason why there should not be done much about the former.

But that is easier said than done because Horatio is always around and always so close and still as beautifully responsive as he’s always been.

As much as Horatio has once warmed up to being around Hamlet, to dealing with his moods, his impertinence, his informality, as much does he warm up to sharing a space with Hamlet so intimately and to the companionable proximity. He is more often in Hamlet’s rooms than in his own and the door that separates their realms from one another stays open more often than not. Horatio is always around. They seem to gravitate towards each other more and more strongly with time.

Hamlet wonders, reasonably he tells himself, whether Horatio might warm up to human touch much the same. His reservations to physical closeness have lessened much and he has grown comfortable at a brush of hands over or knees under the table, of Hamlet passing by him closely or leaning over his shoulder to reach for something or peek at Horatio’s notes.

It is a beautiful thing – always has been, a relaxed Horatio. Even more so a relaxed Horatio at Hamlet’s easiness with him. And a mutual easiness? It is more than Hamlet knew to dream of and he is grateful for it any moment of any day.

If only it could be enough.

He wants it to be enough, really. And in some ways it is. After all, it is so much more than he has had for most of all time and he treasures it so dearly that he would not risk it by pushing for too much ever. But so long as he can tease bit by bit more out of Horatio and be met by Horatio’s beautiful responses and patient ease Hamlet will do just that.

If only Horatio were less responsive and their dynamics would any less organically shift to adapt the closeness Hamlet carefully strives for… If only there were any less of that, Hamlet thinks at times, he could stop himself by reasonably telling himself that there is no chance, that he is going too far. But on the other hand, Hamlet would not change it for the world and his heart clings painfully to Horatio’s openness and the way he embraces Hamlet’s chaotic approaches with great care and turns them into something more soft, more tender, more steady.

Being around Horatio makes Hamlet feel fuzzy, warm and radiant at the best of times. But there is something else there too, a sharpness that he knows rationally and in experience, but has not known quite this way so far – neither in quantity nor in quality – and it becomes difficult to contain with time.

Horatio’s pliant warmth so close to him and their mutual gravitation towards each other do no help Hamlet’s desperation and it comes to a point when the drawing is not enough anymore, and the itching underneath his fingernails _to touch,_ to _be close_ becomes so all-consuming that he does not know what to do with himself.

It becomes overwhelming one late evening on a day before an important exam. They have been studying all day, but Hamlet has been too caught up in thoughts about everything – and, at the forefront of his thinking, Horatio – to the point where Horatio has taken pity on him, made him a cup of tea, put him to bed and retired to his own room to continue studying.

Hamlet has been lying on his bed for well over two hours unable to sleep. His fingers keep twitching by his side and his gaze keeps drifting to the ajar door that separates him from Horatio.

There is a great unrest in him and he cannot settle it enough to draw or to even let his thoughts drift off so far that he might indulge his thoughts – thoughts that circle dangerously close around the matter of Horatio’s hands…

Hamlet sighs, tosses and turns and eventually he sits up and places his feet on the cold floor hoping that it will ground him somewhat. I helps, a little, but it also puts the door to Horatio in his direct line of sight and he sits motionless for long moments, staring down the door and fighting a silent battle in his mind and heart.

As always, when it comes to matters concerning Horatio, whatever pulls him towards the man wins and although Hamlet is feeling raw with fatigue and weary with the insistent unrest that has taken control of him, he gets up and makes his way through the mess of his room on bare feet.

He plods into Horatio’s room sheepishly and finds the man lying on his back, staring up at a piece of paper in deep concentration, his nose all scrunched up and his lips soundlessly muttering repetitions of what he is trying to memorise. He is absolutely beautiful.

His eyes drift to the door when Hamlet enters and light up with something even more beautiful. He makes to sit up – because _of course he does,_ it will be a life time before Hamlet will have straightened the last bit of unwarranted propriety out of Horatio – and Hamlet quickly gestures for him to stay as he is.

Horatio’s feet are bare, he is wearing a loose shirt over comfortable breeches and his sleeves fall back over his elbows from where he is holding up the paper. Hamlet loves these loose shirts Horatio wears on long days inside. They somehow make him look noble, almost angelic, they draw attention to Horatio’s hands, wrists, and forearms which Hamlet has found himself drawing particularly often lately, and they also reveal bits of Horatio’s shoulders and even his collarbone at times.

The way he is lying on his bed the shirt falls softly around his features and uncovers the curve of his neck beautifully. Horatio’s hair is fanned out around his head from staying in the position for so long and it curls softly where it is closest to his face.

The light is dim. Not so dim that Horatio would have trouble reading but dim enough that the light from his room would not distract Hamlet from sleeping through the half-open door. In the unusual lighting Horatio’s eyes appear to be greener than Hamlet has ever seen them and it takes his breath away.

He nearly stops in his tracks and stares right then and there. But he catches himself in time, wanders on and softly rolls himself onto Horatio’s bed to settle next to him.

Horatio lets out a small breath that is nearly a sound and Hamlet snuggles up close and places his head comfortably on Horatio’s chest before he can stop himself or overthink it too much. The moment is fragile, and the action is daring perhaps – they have not shared a bed ever. It is terrain they usually refrain from cautiously, Hamlet because he seeks to avoid the thoughts it would inevitably put in his mind. Horatio probably out of propriety, he dares not even sit on Hamlet’s bed – as much as Hamlet wishes and dreams that Horatio might claim his bed as his as well… It is nothing but this, dreaming, and a dangerous train of thoughts to entertain which is why Hamlet usually keeps his distance from Horatio’s bed as well. But well… desperate times ask for desperate measures.

Horatio seems to tense and relax at the same time and Hamlet decides firmly to ignore the absurdity of the situation. Pretending that what he is doing is natural between them and doesn’t make his heart miss a beat or two is the only thing that can save him now. He closes his eyes and sighs contently.

Horatio seems overwhelmed for a long moment. Then, he carefully lowers the paper he has been holding and breathes in slowly. Hamlet can feel it with every part of him that touches Horatio and it immediately puts his mind at peace and relaxes something within him that has been twisted all day.

“Hamlet, what…?” Horatio breathes and Hamlet listens carefully for any implication of reaction in his voice. But Horatio doesn’t sound put off, merely surprised, mayhaps a little confused. His voice is warm and a little scratchy, probably from reciting lines all day. Hamlet hums and settles his head on Horatio’s chest where he can more firmly feel the rumble of his voice.

“As I expected, thou art much more comfortable than my pillow,” he murmurs back and it startles a small, surprised chuckle from Horatio that is so sweet and so real that Hamlet think he will melt.

Fortunately, it seems to be all the explanation Horatio needs and he shifts to make himself more comfortable with the new position, lifting his paper back up. Hamlet has never loved him more.

He fully relaxes to the sound and sensation of Horatio’s breathing and slings an arm over the other man’s stomach, settling as much on top of him as next to him. It is wonderfully intimate and yet somehow the least questionable of things they’ve ever done. It is almost as though they are meant to be like this and not any other way.

For a long moment Hamlet feels utterly at peace. Of course, now that his mind has calmed down from the storm it was fighting and has found something to focus on his attention shifts… All his senses are suddenly heightened and every nerve end in his body is suddenly on fire. Sparks shoot through his body from where he is touching Horatio and with every breath he inhales the scent of the other man until a surge of want washes over him stronger than anything he has ever known.

He focuses on his breathing and dares not move because if he does he will probably reach out and do something he definitely shouldn’t do and he has already taken things far enough for a night. But _God_ does he wish he could reach out and touch Horatio more firmly, more intently, could make his breath stutter and his eyes widen to show more of those beautiful green specks in the deep brown and could reach out, pull him closer, kiss him… But he cannot and he lies still fighting the urge to, breathing steadily.

And then, something else comes to his attention and he nearly loses his focus. Because his ear is pressed closely to Horatio’s chest and Horatio’s heart is _racing._

A thousand thoughts race through Hamlet’s head so fast that he cannot keep track of a single one. Instead, he is caught on that one realisation over Horatio’s elated heartbeat and he cannot fully place it… anywhere.

Somehow, he continues to breathe. And so does Horatio.

There is an impossibility to this. The moment is fragile and unreal and—and… Hamlet think that this cannot have escaped Horatio’s notice, that they must somehow both be caught in this sphere, mutually aware of the other’s reaction, of their own reaction, but he can still not move, cannot do anything about it, can’t even think because this—This is too much of something. Or maybe not?

He cracks his eyes open, just a bit, just to see that he is here, in the real world, in their chambers, on Horatio’s bed, and this is actually happening.

His eyes fall on Horatio’s free hand that he has placed on the bed next to them, torturously close to Hamlet’s head. A sharp sting runs through him at the thought of how _close_ Horatio is and how easily he could reach out and _touch_ if only—

It is in that moment that Horatio’s fingers twitch, the smallest and most helpless movement, towards Hamlet’s hair and in an instant all thoughts in Hamlet’s head fall silent and his entire mind quiets down. Hamlet momentarily forgets to breathe. _Oh._

His gaze flickers to the green of Horatio’s eyes. Horatio is staring at the paper above his head in what appears to be deep concentration, but his eyes aren’t moving and Hamlet has a feeling that the man isn’t getting any reading done…

His eyes flit back to Horatio’s free hand which is _trembling._ It is so slight a movement that Hamlet only takes note of it because his arm is slung over Horatio’s stomach and it touches Horatio’s other arm lightly.

Hamlet decides to take a chance. He has taken a lot of chances today and maybe, just maybe, this will be one step too far, but Horatio swallows and the tension is positively murderous, definitely unbearable, so he gathers all the self-restraint he has to keep his voice from shaking and softly breathes, “You can if you want.”

It is uttered so quietly that it could have been lost even in the silence of the room, but he immediately knows that he has been heard because Horatio stops breathing. The tension thickens, impossibly, and Hamlet barely breathes himself. His eyes are still fixed on Horatio’s hand and only when the fingers of it twitch again does he risk a glance up at Horatio’s face.

Horatio is looking back at him and as their eyes meet something passes over his face. Hamlet isn’t sure what it is, he really isn’t and for a moment he fears he will say or do something stupid if Horatio doesn’t react – but then, Horatio reaches out – he _reaches out_ and carefully, as gently as a brush of air in a summer night, tangles his fingers into Hamlet’s hair.

Hamlet’s eyes flutter shut and Horatio’s breath comes back to him with a small gasp. The otherworldly moment has passed and been replaced by another, entirely different one, more impossible even than the last.

Horatio tentatively strokes through Hamlet’s hair and Hamlet cannot stop himself from leaning into it. It makes Horatio’s breath stutter, but it also makes his caressing more firm and steady and Hamlet could _purr_ with how good it feels. He melts against Horatio and within minutes feels himself dozing off to the feeling of Horatio’s hand in his hair.

It is absolutely stunning and more than enough. Sure, some part deep inside of Hamlet hungers for more, spurned on by the fact that Horatio actually reached out to take – wishing he would do more, wishing he would claim all of Hamlet his – and the thought it exhilarating and intoxicating and makes something stir in Hamlet – But a much greater part of him is so sated with just this, with the unfathomable reality of Horatio touching him like this, that it overweight anything else.

Hamlet dozes off at some point and only comes to in the early morning hours. No real light falls into the rooms through the windows yet, but Hamlet knows the look of twilight, he has grown up in Denmark where one only learns to know day from night by sharpening their eyes for the shift of light that comes with the twilight.

Horatio is fast asleep next to him. Over night Hamlet must have shifted from on top of Horatio to lying more next to him, but Horatio’s hand is still tangled in his curls and he has one arm wrapped around Hamlet somehow.

Hamlet lies still and treasures the scene for a moment. He watches the even rise and fall of Horatio’s chest and studies the peaceful features of his face. Eventually, he carefully shifts out of Horatio’s arms. There was something about last night, some truth and yet perhaps some magic. Either way, enough boundaries have carefully been crossed for a while and Hamlet thinks it best not to strain it by making Horatio wake up to him still here.

He carefully takes the papers Horatio is still holding from his hand and orderly places them on the bedside table. He just as carefully extracts Horatio’s other hand from his hair and gently places it on the bed, but not without placing the chastest of kisses in Horatio’s palm.

After that he stands crouched by the side of the bed for a long moment, staring at Horatio and shaking his head at himself for being so careless as to allow himself the gesture. He shakes himself out of it eventually, thinking that if he stares at the man any longer, he will lean down and kiss him awake and that really cannot happen.

He swiftly makes to flit from the room, but just as he has reached the door something stops him yet again and he turns around. Horatio is the picture of perfection still and Hamlet has to swallow hard at the rise of desire for this man in him. He wishes nothing more in this moment than that Horatio would wake up, open his eyes, call for him, take him back in his arms, pull him into a kiss…

Hamlet fears that last night has woken something insatiable inside him. He has tasted blood and now he wants more. And yet… he does not fear it as much as it elates him. There was something there last night and it stands to be further explored, but still…

He shakes his head again. It will not do to longingly wait and see until something happens, not anymore. Something would better be done about all this and his best way to answers where it comes to Horatio has always been to tease them out of the man with the right balance of subtleness and blind faith.

His gaze lingers on Horatio’s left shoulder that is peeking out from under his shirt and a thought comes to him…

*******************

Hamlet knows that he can be impulsive. Rationally, he also knows that he should not act on every thought that comes to his mind. But that is of course always easier to say in retrospect.

When he nicked one of Horatio’s shirts from his wardrobe before tiptoeing out of the man’s room, the action had seemed cunning. Since, he has been sitting on the shirt for a few days, uncertain what to do. Every now and then he will get it out of its hiding spot at night and bury his nose in the soft cotton and think of Horatio’s eyes, Horatio’s hair, his hands, his lips, and he will gasp quietly and then tear himself away from the thing. Often he needs to head out then to catch some fresh air because he feels like he will suffocate in his body’s demand for something he cannot have.

It is deliciously indulgent and he knows that he shouldn’t because it will be his doom, but he cannot stop thinking about Horatio’s racing heartbeat, Horatio’s hand in his hair, can’t stop thinking about Horatio’s breath stuttering to a halt underneath Hamlet, cannot stop _hoping…_

One Saturday morning, this hope drives him to the most ridiculous of actions. He has tugged Horatio’s shirt out of his wardrobe that morning and taken it to his dressing room with him. As he slips into it, he takes a deep, trembling breath. It is a little loose around him, but instantly comfortable and moreover it feels impossibly _right_ for him to be wearing something that’s Horatio’s.

He turns and looks at himself as well as he can and it seems oddly fitting. He plays with the thought of this being real for a moment, of him wearing Horatio’s shirt to symbolise the claim Horatio might have over him… It is almost too good a thought and he barely refrains from letting it carry him away.

He calms himself sufficiently and takes another deep breath before leaving his dressing room to join Horatio who is sitting over an essay, having breakfast.

Almost immediately Hamlet curses himself inwardly and wonders what in the name of all that is holy he was thinking. He is not sure what he hoped would come of this, just _something_ surely, but nervousness and tense anticipation battle for control in his head when Horatio glances up at him.

First, nothing happens. Horatio acknowledges his presence and looks back down at his essay, but almost immediately he frowns and looks back up. Hamlet does what he can not to look as caught red-handed as he feels and, in fairness, is.

“Is that… my shirt?” Horatio asks and there is something in his voice that Hamlet cannot place, some hesitance and then something neatly hidden underneath that…

Hamlet flinches lightly at the question while sitting down opposite Horatio and quickly schools his expression into one of surprised innocence. “This?” he asks and lightly tugs at the shirt. “Well, I must have found it somewhere and mistaken it for mine.”

It may well be the most obvious lie he has ever told, and Horatio doesn’t look like he’s buying it, not for a second. But he doesn’t call Hamlet out on it and that is strange because historically speaking, Horatio has always made a point of calling Hamlet out on his bullshit…

Instead, Horatio’s face is blank, and he motionlessly stares at Hamlet without blinking. Something passes over his face, something that Hamlet thinks he has seen before when Horatio caught his eyes that night after Hamlet had said that he could reach out if he wanted to – reach out and _touch_ and Horatio _had_ \- Hamlet feels hot and cold at the same time. The moment lasts and he thinks that Horatio will snap, that this will be it, this will overstrain this tension they have carefully been sneaking around ever since Horatio moved in, Horatio will react, do something, _anything_ \- and Hamlet hopes that it will be _fierce._ Hopes that Horatio will tear the shirt off him, shove him against a wall and positively ravish him—

Except then Horatio moves, and Hamlet forgets to breathe for a second, but Horatio just excuses himself quietly and hurries to the washing room, closing the door firmly after him and leaving behind a terribly flustered Hamlet.

Hamlet wonders, confused, whether this counts as a reaction and what to make of it. Maybe he has gone too far now. Perhaps Horatio’s had enough of this and had to get away from him. Or maybe not? Mayhaps Horatio is mad that Hamlet would have taken his shirt?

He spends long minutes staring at his breakfast, unable to swallow any of it, he feels too tense. Eventually, Horatio comes out of the washing room again and settles back into his place without comment. Hamlet watches him for some sign of anger or irritation, but when Hamlet absent-mindedly tugs at the sleeve of the shirt he is wearing, Horatio looks up at him and gives him a smile that is definitely _fond._

And oh, that is good. Because that means that Horatio isn’t upset with him, not really. And perhaps his reaction earlier had nothing to do with Hamlet wearing his shirt.

They finish their breakfast in silence and go about their day as if nothing happened and Hamlet tells himself that he imagined Horatio’s blank expression earlier. He also decides to lay a little lower at the project of trying to tease reactions out of Horatio for a while. Because perhaps overstraining the tension between them isn’t a good idea after all. No more risking Horatio’s patience and goodwill.

Horatio gives him another fond smile later and Hamlet feels his stomach flutter when he smiles back. Yes, this is good, he thinks. This can be enough. At least for a while.

*******************

As much as happiness has somehow become a constant in Hamlet’s life again, it still does not necessarily last. He is as happy as he has ever been, but settling in as he has with Horatio has also given him something to lose and the spiral of terror that his mind can be takes full advantage of that – why would it not? Hamlet is not sure why he expected anything less.

Hamlet feels safe when he is with Horatio, more than he ever has felt safe in his life before. Damnit, Hamlet is even sure that he has never known true happiness, peace, or the feeling of being whole, of not being utterly broken, before he has met Horatio. An entire life of terror and misery stands against that. Reasonably, though, Hamlet feels like Horatio’s affection should be enough to outweigh all of that. Hamlet’s mind, however, has famously been known to not care much for reason.

Insomnia has always been a problem for Hamlet, but since Horatio has moved in his nights have gotten a little less sleepless and his sleepless nights have become a lot less unpleasant, a good measure of them spent with Horatio, others in thought of him, knowing him to be right across the threshold of a door, finding comfort in that.

Paranoia has been decreasing as well. In fact, he has been free from it for as long as he’s ever been and when it has struck, he has been able to get it under control and find comfort and a feeling of security with Horatio as well. Things have been going so well that Hamlet has nearly stopped worrying about the inevitability of his next panic attack. It probably figures, Hamlet thinks in retrospect, that when paranoia finally comes back, it comes back full force.

One night, Horatio has retired early, Hamlet sleeps miserably and wakes up in the early morning hours drenched in sweat, feeling terribly cold and unable to move for minutes that stretch on. Schemes and shadows pass by his clouded vision and he is so scared that he fears his heart might stop and thinks that perhaps he wouldn’t even find it in him to move if he physically could. His mind slowly sinks into the horror of it all and he feels like drowning and burning and simultaneously wishes he could die, and this could be over.

The sleep paralysis passes eventually, the paranoia doesn’t. It takes its turns with what to torture him with. Thoughts of home, his duties pressing him down, his future hunting him through the dark, his parents cruel and unrelenting, thoughts of Ophelia cold and distant, closer to death than to life, after having had her father scream at her for an hour. The looming walls of castle Elsinore threatening to swallow him, voices whispering to him, shadows following him, watching, listening to everything he says and does…

He tries to safe himself, seeking refuge in thoughts of Wittenberg, of his carefree, good life here. He is safe from the threats of home, and if just for a while, he still is, but his mind turns even that around, uses Wittenberg against him and finds in his hesitance, his doubts, his fears the perfect breeding ground.

Wittenberg isn’t real. Not truly. It is but an idea he clings onto. He isn’t really safe here. His duties, his future, all will drag him back eventually. He isn’t safe anywhere. Elsinore’s eyes and ears are ever around him. He isn’t free. And he cannot trust anyone. Nobody cares about him and he doesn’t deserve to be cared about by anyone. He cannot even care about himself, why should his family, why should Ophelia, why should Rosencrantz and Guildenstern even. Why should—

 _No,_ he thinks. _Not Horatio._ Horatio cares. Horatio is here. Horatio is real. Fear and doubt and self-hatred gnaw on him, but he refuses to let them touch Horatio, refuses to let them reach into the last safe space inside his heart and soul, refuses… And falters, fails, loses, continuously.

He finds himself at Horatio’s bedside somehow. He is not sure how he got there. He thinks he has gotten up to pace. He seems to remember cowering between his things, crying. He thinks he wanted to throw something, but didn’t dare to… A short evaluation of the situation answers the most pressing question: He hasn’t hurt himself. No… But he has gotten close. And he couldn’t be alone with his mind anymore. Couldn’t— needed something to hold onto. Someone…

Horatio is warm and almost instinctively reaches out for Hamlet when he crawls under his sheets, slowly startling awake at the touch of Hamlet’s cold skin against his, warm from sleep. _Please. Don’t shy away. Don’t let go._

He doesn’t. Instead, Horatio’s raspy voice reaches through to Hamlet and it is the first thing in hours that is gentle, that doesn’t mean to crowd him in, to catch him in a corner and attack him. “What time is it?”

“About four in the morning,” Hamlet breathes back to his own surprise. He hasn’t expected himself to be able to speak, but Horatio’s presence has grounded him some, slowly pulls him back into this world and Hamlet curls himself further into Horatio’s side.

Horatio blinks a little more awake, but he still does not move away. “Art thou alright?”

Somehow, Hamlet has not expected that questions and he is momentarily struck speechless again, unsure what to say. He eventually settles for the thought that is at the forefront of his mind. “Just… hold me.”

And Horatio does. He wraps one arm around Hamlet and pulls him closer, without question, without hesitance and like that they lie in silence. Hamlet focuses on Horatio’s scent, on the arm around him, on the warmth that slowly seeps back into his body. His thoughts are still running wild. He is still tense and shaky and miserable, but he begins to feel less lost, less drowned out by his fears.

Horatio patiently gives him a few minutes, never letting up his hold on Hamlet, a warm and steady presence in his back. “Thou com’st to my room to wake me up at 4 a.m. just to cuddle?” he eventually asks.

Hamlet isn’t sure what to say to that for a while, but Horatio’s arm tightens around him and he understands. He does not have to answer. There is no obligation here, just an offer, and a promise that Horatio will not let go either way. It soothes him, makes him feel like he can properly breathe again.

A minute passes and Hamlet stares into the dark, comforted by the knowledge of having Horatio behind him. It occurs to him that Horatio has asked because he wants to know. Because he cares. It isn’t an easy revelation to wrap his head around, but it feels, ultimately, like a good thing, and it also occurs to Hamlet that he wants to _explain it_ to Horatio. Wants to tell him everything. Wants Horatio to understand.

And so, he finds his voice and tries to put into words what he is feeling.

“Sometimes, I lie awake at night and there is this feeling of dread filling me out, and I am afraid that something terrible will happen, that it’s already begun, that this terrible, terrible thing will inevitably happen and it will change everything and I will lose everything because of it and there is nothing I can do. And thou art just a door away from me, but I can’t call out to thee because I fear that when I call thee, you won’t answer and you won’t be there and it will all already have happened and everything will be gone and thou art gone too – and then I can’t call out, Horatio, because if it is true, if this is all in my head and I have already lost thee – no matter what else, Horatio, because I could take losing everything, but not thee – if I had lost thee and thou wouldst not be there, I would be nothing, Horatio, there would be nothing I could do and I am too afraid to call out because what if – what... I can’t—“

It is as close as he can get to explaining it and he is breathing heavily by the end of it. Horatio, impossibly, pulls him even closer and breathes steadily so that Hamlet can concentrate on his breathing and calm down with it. Only when Hamlet’s breathing is back to normal does Horatio raise his voice.

“Promise me something,” he breathes against the back of Hamlet’s neck and Hamlet waits in uncertain anticipation for what will follow. “Always call out. For whatever is lost, I will always be there, and I will always listen out and when I hear thee, I will always come for thee no matter what.”

 _When._ Not _if._ Because it will always only be a matter of time for Horatio to find him. And find him he will. Hamlet’s still anxious mind struggles to believe in the reality of what he has just heard. But then, this is Horatio. And more often than not Horatio seems to be the only truly real thing in Hamlet’s life.

Hamlet turns around, carefully so that he doesn’t push Horatio’s arms away, but Horatio keeps holding him all the same. He searches Horatio’s eyes and the brown and green shows no deceit, no disgust, no doubt. Just affection. Deep, unaltered affection.

“Promise?” he asks, carefully. Because he needs to know, needs to hear it – and Horatio smiles.

“Promise.” It is in that moment that Hamlet knows – really _knows_ \- that Horatio loves him. It is almost too much for his heart to bear and he almost begins to cry again, but this time it is different, this time he feels safe and he knows beyond doubt that there is place where he is safe, no matter what.

“In that case it is a promise, my dear Horatio. A promise for a promise.”

And they shift to be comfortable and Hamlet finally relaxes and dries his tears and Horatio holds him close and safe and yes, _this._ This is what being loved has to feel like. Hamlet wants to never let go of it again. Luckily, he doesn’t have to.

*******************

Hamlet knows that Horatio has given up all thoughts of moving out and finding another place as soon as Horatio starts slowly bringing the mess of Hamlet’s room to order. It’s small things. Moving a coffer or placing papers on an even stack, clearing ways through the chaos… He still occasionally makes comments about moving out, but Hamlet knows that there’s no heart in them and they fully die down soon.

The day that Horatio finally truly moves in, however, is a different one, and only comes by later. Of course, Horatio has been moved in for a while, but there is still some hesitance to him and at heart, Hamlet knows, he still considers their chambers Hamlet’s. It slips, occasionally, in talking to other people or one another, when they speak of retiring to their rooms and Horatio will refer to them as Hamlet’s.

Being at home somewhere is a tricky matter, Hamlet knows, one of the heart. It is why he has only truly felt at home once Horatio joined him – because it was the first time his heart has felt at peace in his short life. Time will fix Horatio’s hesitance to open up to the idea of sharing his home with Hamlet, he hopes. Times does.

It all begins one morning when Horatio runs into a coffer he had moved the other day and Hamlet had carelessly moved back to reach some box later and Horatio outright _yells_ at the coffer to “get out of his way.” Hamlet looks up at that in something like amusement or worry, he isn’t sure. “What is the matter, Horatio?”

And Horatio turns around to him, furious, and oh that is something Hamlet does not see often. It isn’t an entirely unpleasant sight. He has always felt attracted to Horatio when he is most passionate. And the speech he gives is certainly driven by passion.

"I'm having nightmares where I'm being chased by boxes with arms and they tackle me and throw clothes and papers on top of me and secure it with heavy objects and while I'm lying there, thou art standing in the corner laughing opening a bottle of wine although there are a dozen half empty bottles already standing at thy feet!"

Hamlet stares at him after that because wow, Horatio is _hot_ when he yells, but also he hadn’t realised how much the chaos was grating on him. He could have said something. Hamlet isn’t great with tidiness, but he is certainly ready to try. He wants to say just that – save the Horatio being hot part – but the other beats him to it.

“Thou hast been oblivious to this chaos long enough and well enough, you are a bloody prince, your poor servant I and what not, but if it is your stubborn will to live without the attendance of servants to your quarters, then at least take better care of your place and belongings! You want me to keep on living here with you? Then you better tidy this place!”

Hamlet is on his feet within a second at that last sentence. Because, sure, he knows that Horatio will not actually move out, but he will certainly give Horatio no reason to actually contemplate it. (Also, Hamlet desperately needs to put his hands to some use so that he doesn’t end up using them on Horatio instead because wow, he has not seen Horatio so riled in a while.)

They spend the entire day tidying Hamlet and Horatio’s rooms and Hamlet feels the most domestic he has ever felt. Most of the system they work out for Hamlet’s belongings is thanks to Horatio who seems to already have a detailed plan of where what will go – he even insists on reordering Hamlet’s wardrobe and Hamlet is secretly glad that he has neatly hidden away the shirt he nicked from Horatio’s closet where the other man won’t find it.

While Horatio busies himself with the wardrobe, Hamlet quickly but securely hides a few other things that he does not want Horatio to find. He does not wish to keep secrets from Horatio, but the letters from as well as his drafts of a new letter to Ophelia as well as his drawings of Horatio may appear a little creepy to the unassuming eye.

He also hides a flask of oil he owns for… more wicked purposes. He hasn’t had use for it in a long while, but he does not wish for Horatio to suspect worse of him than is true even, and he also does not know if he could handle Horatio innocently asking questions should he be more unassuming and innocent than Hamlet assumes.

Horatio is unstoppable and Hamlet starts to think that he’s found an entire new side to find attractive in Horatio – except he doesn’t have a lot of time to think about that because he spends most of his lending Horatio a hand and then marvelling at how many surfaces there are in his rooms.

When Hamlet is finished putting a pile of coffins and boxes underneath his bed, he catches Horatio looking through a collection of old drawings, eyes wide in wonder. Hamlet recognises them as old drawings of Elsinore and of his family, people at court… He catches a glimpse at a drawing of Yorick he made not long before the old man passed away and a pang of bitterness hits him…

But then he sees the way Horatio looks at his drawings, like they are the most beautiful thing, and he cannot fight some melancholy. It seems right that Horatio should stumble upon the last traces of happiness that Hamlet’s life may ever have seen before Horatio became part of it…

Horatio asks, kindly, whether Hamlet wants to put some of the pictures up and Hamlet declines the offer, first kindly, then a little more harshly, and when Horatio asks one time too often Hamlet becomes a little exasperated and decidedly closes the coffin Horatio has found the drawings in. It is too painful to think of home and of the old days. It too inevitably makes him think of home now and of his future there.

Horatio is quick to apologise and evidently feels quite bad about the matter – which is something Hamlet can stand even less than the sight of the old things, so he sits and does his best to explain. He talks of Ophelia and of how they used to draw together and of feeling free from all that has haunted him in Elsinore here in Wittenberg and Horatio nods and looks like he understands, truly _understands_ and once again Hamlet feels like his heart is too big for his chest because he loves this man so much.

Horatio eventually finds a suitable place for the small coffer in the lowest compartment in one of the bookshelves that Hamlet finds very agreeable and they proceed in their pursuit of order.

Horatio puts some of Hamlet’s belongings in his own room. He doesn’t seem to think much of it, but Hamlet cannot help feeling warm at the gesture and so he carefully takes a small number of Horatio’s few belongings and moves them to his room, finding special places for them where they can belong, like Horatio seems to easily do for everything in their chambers, including Hamlet.

When Horatio notices, his gaze on Hamlet is fond and he gives him a small smile that Hamlet makes sure to memorise because it feels like a new kind of smile and he never wants to forget a single one of Horatio’s smiles, especially not when they are directed at him.

They are done with everything by the end of the day and Horatio settles down on the chaise longue in Hamlet’s room where Hamlet already sits exhaustedly leaned back in one of the chairs. And Horatio looks around and mutters, so quietly that Hamlet wonders whether he has meant to say it out loud at all, “Home.”

Either way, Hamlet feels alight and thinks that in this moment he could fly if only he wanted to. He smiles over at Horatio and says, “As it is, Horatio, this place has only truly become my home now with thee in it, making me make it more than just a room I use, but one I live in, with thee.”

Because Horatio deserves to know and really, Hamlet is somewhat tired of playing down his feelings. And Horatio smiles and looks again like he _understands_ and maybe that is it. Horatio understands. He will always understand. Hamlet thinks, distantly, that perchance Horatio would even understand what Hamlet feels for him. But the time to find out is not this day. This day they will simply be at home together, at home _because_ they are together.

*******************

The day to find out comes. And for some reason it is the day of Easter Monday which Hamlet finds a little too meaningful, religiously speaking, for his tastes, to add more to it. It also happens to be the day Ros and Guil have planned their elaborate feast for. And mayhaps that comes in handy, Hamlet thinks later. But much later only. First, things are a lot more complicated.

Easter Sunday has been blissfully easy-going, and they have had a lot of fun. The morning of Easter Monday, however, they are running late for the service and Horatio chides Hamlet for delaying them even more when he insists on taking a bath, but he did not have time the day before and he will not endure another service and day-long celebrations without taking a bath first.

He hurries, though. For the sake of Horatio’s good moods. And so it comes that he steps out of the washing room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips and everything spirals out of control.

In the same instant in which Hamlet emerges, Horatio steps out of his room into Hamlet’s and when his eyes fall upon Hamlet he immediately stops dead in his tracks and drops the hymn books he has been holding.  
Which is… _unusual_ for Horatio. The man is usually very particular about taking proper care of books – but hey, it’s Easter Monday and Horatio is stressed because they are running late – so Hamlet does not think overly much of it and takes the few steps it takes to cross the room and help Horatio pick up the books.

It seems like the sensible thing to do in the moment and he is glad he has done it when he reaches Horatio because the man seems gravely unsettled, upset even, and he only shakes himself out of his stupor when Hamlet has nearly picked up all of the books himself and gently places them back in Horatio’s arms.

His hand brushes Horatio’s arm and Horatio looks a lot like he might faint on the spot so Hamlet takes a hold of his arm to steady him and steps closer for balance because _wow_ Horatio might _actually_ be about to faint and Hamlet’s getting worried. “Art thou quite alright, Horatio?”

Horatio doesn’t answer, just stares at Hamlet with a blank expression on his face, his eyes seemingly unable to settle on one thing at a time. The books slip from his hands again and Hamlet quickly and gently pries them from Horatio’s hands and puts them on a nearby chair. His towel nearly comes loose at the movement and Hamlet self-consciously catches and fastens it before it can slip from his frame as he turns back to Horatio who is still staring and makes a small sound from the back of his throat and --- _oh._ That…

His eyes catch Horatio’s and Horatio’s pupils are wide and the expression on his face isn’t blank at all, it’s…

Hamlet’s breath catches in his throat and he instinctively takes another step closer, grip on Horatio’s arm tightening ever so slightly and Horatio’s breathing is shallow and his face reflect the scarcely contained desire that is cursing through Hamlet’s body right back at him and they stand _so close_ – and _how_ has he not noticed this before? It isn’t the first time Horatio is looking at him like this, but _oh_ it is the first time Hamlet has been able to read it, ever understood, ever… _fuck._

Horatio is still staring at him and Hamlet hesitates – because he still cannot quite wrap his head around the fact that _this is really happening._ That it is _want_ that is written all over Horatio’s face, painstakingly clear now that he’s seen it. But the tension is too much and the room feels too small and Horatio’s eyes skip down to Hamlet’s lips and Hamlet’s heart very nearly stops. _This._  
“Horatio—”

But he doesn’t get any further than that because in the next moment, there is excited knocking on the door and they both startle out of their tension and the moment is broken. Hamlet wants to say something, but Horatio looks like he may very well faint after all if he does and so Hamlet frowns instead and opts for opening the door, only to be nearly pounced on by an excited Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

“What are you waiting for? We’ll be late for the service!” Guil scolds and Ros laughs as he sees the state Hamlet is in. “Really, my lord? Come on then, get dressed, we’ve got to get moving!”

Hamlet rolls his eyes and makes for his dressing room but throws a glance back towards Horatio first. The other man seems intent on avoiding eye contact with Hamlet and picks the hymn books back up instead. Hamlet frowns but goes to dress.

When he emerges fully dressed and joins his friends, Horatio looks like he is very willing to pretend the moment that just passed between them has never happened. But Hamlet will have none of that. A lot of things have fallen in place and make a lot of sense now that he has seen the way Horatio _looks_ at him. Thinking of the many times Hamlet has had to coax Horatio into allowing himself to get closer to Hamlet, he will not let up now.

He has seen something _real_ there and then. Horatio _wants_ him, no less than Hamlet wants him. And if there is a chance – as Hamlet is positive there is – that he can make Horatio confront that to both their benefits, he will do whatever is in his power to outsmart Horatio’s characteristic hesitance. He remembers Ophelia’s words, that Horatio’s heart may be won blatantly, but not roughly…

Hamlet has a plan now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What. A. Ride. Right?
> 
> Be sure to let me know how you liked it. I can't say for sure when chapter 4 will come around. I'm actually writing a lot these days so there's a chance I'll get right to it, but I've got a lot of other things to write and stuff to get done and lockdown grates on me... Well, we'll see. I do hope to have it done before Easter Monday, hahah. It should be interesting to write anyway. Thanks for sticking with me and with this story yet again and thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Here's your pun of the week.
> 
> Two antennas got married - the ceremony wasn't much but the reception was amazing.
> 
> Yours faithfully,  
> the devil's first angel


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